These were written a while ago in-class (I think in workshop) but never posted…
[narrative poem about the Melodion (Sam’s object that he brought in)]
[Oh, and as if you couldn’t tell, there were some words we had to use…]
i.
Their relationship was all platonic
at first
but when she began to play her
melodion, his chest felt sudsy
and she took him
from his own clenched fists.
ii.
It is a relic of a bygone era
sturdily built, the keys offer a click
rather than the sudsy platonic softness
of today;
the case is a case in point
leather with a metal zipper
plush felt inside
And all for such a curious device
a melodion?
Fist of kleptomaniac’s songs are played
[that last line is just weird…]
iii.
It must have belonged
to the childhood
of a parent perhaps. The 50’s, 60’s, 70’s
manufacturing—consumption, prosperity.
A memory of music,
family history.
The kleptomaniac uncle
who bangs his fist
the platonic cousin whom he
played for.
dreamed of sudsy romance
[another throwaway line(s)]
[[in my everlasting internal debate on whether to edit these as I post themor to just post as they’re written, I chose the latter, though I couldn’t resist adding commentary…