Back Story
by Bill Yarrow
I wanted you in the worst way
but that's not how I got you. No,
you just waltzed, trippingly, into my life.
I measured you and the band played on.
All our guests shouted, "Ya-ala, Yaw, Yaw!!"
as George Washington Ferris awaited the appearance of Gustave Eiffel.
"Well," my mother asserted, "It's all for the best"
but I remonstrated: "Not according to Lao Tse!"
The sun was making a botch of the garden.
"We'll need a mess of rags," said Palace Ned.
You were feeling trés bouffant, amortized.
Yo, Fred! Yo, Ethel! Hey, Lucy! Hey, Desi!
Poems never end the way you want them
to. Why is that? What makes so many so meh?
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Author's Note
This poem was published in Literary Orphans and appears in "Critique of Pure Dreaming" (free download at academia.edu ).
This is a poem in palindromic rhyme.
Definitely not meh, this one. *
Interesting.
You managed Ferris and Eiffel in the same poem. Who's more famous? There's only one Eiffel Tower, but Ferris wheels are everywhere.
Nothing on that blank page ever comes out or ends the way the writer wants to. But agree with Beate, definitely not a meh for this.
A delightful little read. Nicely done. *
Thank you, Beate, Gary, Fos, and Javed!
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