Thursday, 27 April 2017

A poem by Pat Edwards

On becoming vintage

You'll find it there on your neck,
your lid or somewhere,
your backside maybe -
your sell-by date
or more accurately,

your use by date.

God help you if you go over that by even one day.
Why, your innards will surely rot untimely,
entrails, very self, deteriorate to toxic waste.
You'll see visions of war cabinet in urgent huddle,
ladies wearing pencil skirts, belligerent buns tightly tied
on their pointy little heads,
pushing wooden boats and submarines
around a cardboard cut-out you.

It might just be alright
if you throw up a couple of times,
clear the system out before it's too late.
There's just a chance you will be declared


or even vintage,
worthy of a bit of rubbing down,
a lick of chalk paint and a darn good waxing,
before you wane.

I am Pat Edwards, writer, teacher and performer from Mid Wales. I run Verbatim poetry open mic nights locally and am curating this year’s Welshpool Poetry Festival. I have had work published in on line magazines including Picaroon, Rat’s Ass and The Fat Damsel, and in some anthologies including Wenlock Poetry Anthology 2016.

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