The House Flounder
by Bill Yarrow
Spackle. Spackle is always the answer.
And then sanding. And then primer. And
then paint. And then divorce. Divorce is
always the answer. Tell the ballet dancers
not to jump up and down on the finished
floors. They are causing large cracks in the
ceilings and walls. They are causing chips
in the dishes we use for company. They are
causing fissures in the light fixtures and a
loosening of the porcelain bathroom tile.
Please keep the ballet dancers in isolation
with the rope dancers and the taxi dancers
and the ballroom dancers and the fan dancers.
Otherwise, we'll have to call in tradesmen.
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Author's Note
This poem appears in WRENCH (erbacce-press, 2009)
Other stories by Bill Yarrow
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somebody notify degas
brilliantemisimo!
You are right. Spackle is always the answer. Fav!
Dear Bill. Be warned, my opinions on poetry suck. But anyway, for mine the first 4 lines are good, the rest not so good. Why? Well, I'm in for a penny so in for a pound. It's all about this little phrase: '.. is always the answer.' What a connector! Anyone who can connect divorce with the word spackle has arrived at a completely wacky answer to an equally important question. Particularly if on the way he has managed to do sanding, priming and painting. Total lunacy. So you should have stopped there. Or not gone on in such a less wacky manner. Wackiness should never be done in half measures. Being wacky is a very serious matter.
There. You have been told.