Saturday, February 13, 2010

enfant gâté

The poet writes
without caring
just how many words
fit on a line.

The window
in front of his Dell
contains the streaks
from his dog's nose.

He is tempted
to flip through the pages
of his hefty Thesaurus
with a wet index finger.

But he sighs.
He looks at himself
in a mirror.


way said...

It's supposed to be ironic that the poem is called "enfant gâté" because I had to look that up in a Thesaurus. I was looking for another phrase for "spoiled child".

benjamin said...

haha, i thought that was maybe the case, but i wasn't sure.