Monday, November 16, 2009


Not The P-Word Again

How processional your pea pleas,
the way you divert your eyes parallelogram
into a plethora of porous non committal statements.

You would think by now the plaster on your lips would
have cracked, your proscrastinating sentences
that hit my ears posthumously, prickling the prickle
of my pears.

It seems pernicious to be honest, how you sink your teeth
into me, probing for answers with platitudes and
passing polyglots as answers, I wasn't born yesterday.

Well enough is enough, no more will you prevaricate the
conversation, undermining any truth or decency. I am
pining with pins, trembling like a tall pine, shivering like
a lone poplar.

I will adhere to your parlour games no longer,
the time for pleasantries has passed, I can taste
your pollen innuendos from a room away, and it pains me.

Take your polished veneer, your pool side tricks and
pack your bags, because this party is over.

Kevin Harling.

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