“Walk a few steps behind two people engaged in conversation for several blocks. Poetry is all around us says Kenneth Goldsmith writes – and that includes the poetry of two strangers blabbing, their conversation “punctuated by red lights, giving the speech a certain pace and rhythm.” Medium.

Write your poem of strangers. The form of the poem you write is up to you!

The boy hold his mother’s hand,

he never lets it go.

Their fingers band together,

as they conquer the snow.
His eyes widen as they pass the dollar store,

the windows filled with sweet treats and coca-cola.

Mother rushes him along for she has four more errands to run.
I see the tears in his eyes,

he wipes them before they freeze.

They disappear into the cold,

before I can give the boy the peppermint,
that I slipped into the dollar store to buy,

just for him.

Cold and Wet.
Looking at his watch. Then stares at her.
She looks back, smiles at him.
He about to walk over to talk, until her boyfriend came.
Both got on the bus, as he watch them leave.
Still Waiting….

Cold and Wet.
Looking at his watch. Then stares at her.
She looks back, smiles at him.
He about to walk over to talk, until her boyfriend came.
Both got on the bus, as he watch them leave.
Still Waiting….

Mans voice:

Mumble mumble bubble but

rhubarb rhubarb Swedish chef

mumble mumble plunk plunk
higher pitch: woman speaking

humptydump

Flibbertigibbet,

tattarrattat thwip!
looking at the traffic.
man speaking again:

mumble blub? blub twub

plonk, twubtwub … snickt
silence ( except the sounds of the village)
walking two blocks.

in silence.

I walk,

always accompanied.

I circle,

the neighbourhood,

over and over again.

Not once, not twice

but thrice.

I see you,

but I am invisible.

Until Pumpkin poops on your lawn.

Then you watch me as my hand reaches out,

encased in plastic

and removes the offense.

And I go back to being invisible,

until next time.

tales of weekend escapades

riddle Monday classes,

said one guy to another

“its the first time I have been sober

since 8:30 am Friday”

#keepinitclassyUMW

Roses are red.
Violets are blue
Oh shit you noticed
That I am following you

Bro.

Bro- I know bro.

Bro. You have no idea.

Bro. Brooooooo I know. I saw it happen.

Bro? You’re the best, bro.

Bro- no homo bro.

Bro. Acceptance, bro. Be a bro and accept it.

Oh, by the way bro? I got you this bro-nosaurous rex from Target.

BROOOOOO.

Bro.

“I do not think she saw you. You are safe.”
   “But if,…” he uttered, fear, heavy like death.

   “But if she did, then it is bad.”
A pause.

And then the other spoke.
“Then you could run. Run far. Run fast. Don’t stop.”
   “It would not do,” he cried.

   “It would not do,” he cried again.

   “Find me, she would. She is relentless in her ways.”
A longer pause.
“You may be right.”
Another pause.   
“You may be done.”
   A panicked look. A woeful cry.

   “You would desert me.”
No reply.
   “You would desert me, for you could not take the chance yourself.”
No reply.
   “Wait! Come back! Do not leave me to her.”
No reply.
   “OH NO! OH NO! OH NO!”

   “I did not mean to use that word!”
   “OH NO PLEASE NO OH NO!”
And there was no reply.