|Satire Poetry posted January 7, 2014|
Life imitating art...
She strolled with grace, a goddess in a fur,
holding a handbag and a champagne flute.
My Ego nudged my Id, said, "Look at her!"
so I proceeded, in my warm-up suit,
to turn my sneakers on the slick parquet
and sidle up to the Rodin display.
The Thinker brooded there, a studied pose
of Man's reflective mood (without his clothes).
She stood, absorbed in art, admiring him,
his bundled muscles bronzed and set in state.
I touched my baseball cap, then tipped the brim,
flashed a grin, and asked, "Could this be fate?"
The sleek Parisian smirked and, with a scoff,
she shook her head, mouthed "Non", and sashayed off.
I watched her, slumped to sit, and cocked my wrist,
and pondered the rejection, chin to fist.
There are two metrical substitutions, the first one at the beginning of the second line, and the other at the beginning of the twelfth line. These are intentional tools used when moving beyond the "basics" of iambic meter.Pays one point and 2 member cents.
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