Sunday, 25 August 2013

Sunday Poem

Great. Another straight-faced romp in cliché. I’d give transom and taffrail
to deter more showy poets obdurate in slogging out Maritime doggerel 
for self-dashed chapbooks. Sure, my strut-sagged keel bears likeness
to the rummy guts of fishermen granddads but I sure as shit won’t miss 
another ode couched close to solipsistic sonnets on lobster traps and gannets.
I’m done in, stuck fast on the mud banks of the Avon; why care I of stanzas 
relating fateful jaunts with deckhands? First off, it’s a crock and recidivist
when chumps pen one-offs about bottomed-out trawlers. Spastic fake lyricist, 
get to the gist of this, I’ll look folk for the photo-op but for the couplets
do me a solid: tow me to the brink and sink me for a guiltless 
death at sea lest I’m blind-sided and caught sepia on some GG nominee.
From Songs That Remind Us Of Factories (Nightwood, 2013) by Danny Jacobs.

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