Gulp

by Pam Newham

“So, how’s the poetry?” she asks,
passing the blackcurrant jus.
I am surprised.
She’s never shown much interest
before in what I do.
But the other guests appear
interested too so I chat
about verse and metre,
couplet and refrain
until I notice, on their faces,
confusion or is it pain?
So, I stop, pick up my glass
and that’s when I see
this cheerless wine is called
Poetry.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s