Monday, November 18, 2013

Tuesday Poem - Strange, unremarkably so by Anna Fern

Strange, unremarkably so

They just want to keep talking when I read a normal poem,
but an experimental sound poem
brings a whole bar of drunks to silence.

Loading up the car, I admire the enhanced reflections of scudded
clouds on the back window, the sun a bright disc.
Hey, you could watch a solar eclipse on this thing!

The bathroom mirror says I can leave the house looking pretty good,
but when I see my reflection in shop windows I want to go home.

Completing an unremarkable transaction on the phone, the customer
says 'love you' and hangs up.

On the freeway, it's best not to think about the possibility of dying.
Try to marvel at how cooperative we can be.

Peak hour, I notice a puff of white fluff from the car in front. Then
another. Then a burst of white feathers. A perfect white dove falls
plop! onto the road in front of my car, sits up, flies away. I think, the
driver of that car is a magician, or maybe an escape artist.

Tonight, I was greeted by the neighbour's cat on the back verandah.
Proof that when a cat dies, all the other cats redistribute themselves
to fill the empty space.

Anna Fern lives in Melbourne and writes wonderful poems, both 'normal'
and 'sound' poems, and is a consummate performer. This poem was in 
The Best Australian Poems 2013.

If you want to read more Tuesday Poems click on the quill icon at the top of the page.