I composed this poem at Arndale Centre,
In Waterstones right by the poetry corner,
Not budging, minding my own business,
Browsing over Sissay’s morning poems,
And skimming through BZ’s ‘Dis Poetry’,
When two young students dropped by.
Obviously studying English and well-read,
But oblivious of my adjacent existence.
Over books they roamed and harshly analysed,
‘This one is boring, and this one is a lullaby,
It will doze you off on the first stanza.
While this poet is dull, she must be shot!’
Until they reached the bottom of the shelf,
When one rose abruptly, into semi-paralysis.
The throbbing of her swelling bosom betraying,
Then the smizing, giving the excitement away,
‘Found it, I’m spiritually attached to this guy,
I must obtain it, and spend my last pound!’
Now, as they walked off with their copy,
I replaced all that I had carefully selected,
And went for the same book they’d just picked,
Curious to comprehend what that poet crafted,
To cause such a sensation to a human heart.
So, watch this space for my sober feedback!