Small Talk (After Charles H. Webb)
One of the assignments we were given for our midterm was to find a poem that we thought the world would be empty without. Then to take that poem, and mimic the authors style, preferably to revise one of our own works, but possibly to write an entirly new piece. The poem that I chose was entitled Typos by Charles H. Webb. Because none of my poems dealt with that subject matter, I chose to write a new piece.Some of the best discussions
come from the worst of topics.
A simple talk about the weather
finds its way through cold fronts
into the bones of hands to the
magnolia blossons that fell
onto the ground so violenty
after the thunder ebbed.
musing about the Saturday matinee
turns around and finds one speaking
of that wooden slab you used
to coast down the hills of white
before you knew what Rosebud
meant. That day, sitting in the floor,
we were only talking of the
people on the TV screen.
trying to decide if two
who had known each other through
so many broken hones and
hearts, could find "true love"
beneath the layers of friendship
they had wrapped around inside.
I asked you what you though,
and you answered. I knew you
would say no. You may have
noticed, my averted line of sight,
the sudden attention to the screen;
when what I meant to ask was
if you thought you and I could
unwrap ourselves for each other.
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