You just couldn’t let it alone, could you?
Always digging, digging, digging beneath
the surface, in the coffee-drinking lobe of
my Kiwi-mush brain. Unearthing the pungent
heat of memories better left buried jusqu’a le fin,
until the day you roll the dice and snake eyes
pierce the fabric of my fragmented soul. Miss May
told you I’d never amount to anything
and I didn’t disappoint, did I? Did I?
NaPoWriMo’s prompt for today suggested we incorporate seven disparate concepts into one poem. I have no idea where this one came from.
- an example of synasthetic metaphor — one that describes one sensory perception using adjectives more naturally suited to a different sense
- a fruit
- the name (first or last) of someone you knew in school
- a rhetorical question
- a direct address to the poem’s audience
- a word in a foreign language
- a reference to a game of chance