OK, this is going up late. I wrote a halfway decent sestina yesterday, on my phone. and then pressed something that, without the benefit of a Ctrl+Z function, meant that I’d pretty permanently lost it. Then Dr Who and Eurovision intervened.
Below is a poor imitation of the original poem, frankensteined together from scraps of memory. It’s just something I wanted to get off my chest.
Tell me lady, what’s your problem?
Why the dead-eyed glaring in my
Vague direction? Why the putdowns
When I join the conversation
Would it hurt to crack a smile?
Or would good manners be uncool?
I can’t help noticing your cool-
Ness to me. But it’s not a problem.
When my open, friendly smile
Freezes, dead and mask-like on my
Face, the art of conversation
Shrivels underneath your putdowns.
How can I be sure they’re putdowns?
Maybe you’re just being cool
And witty, making conversation.
I’m the one who’s got a problem.
All this enmity is in my
Head. I turn to you and smile.
You do not return my smile
Spit more sugar-coated putdowns
In my face, and thus destroy my
Fantasy that I am cool
Enough to be here. I’m a problem.
So I leave the conversation
I cannot make conversation!
I’m unworthy of your smile.
Clumsy, awkward, one big problem.
Shrinking from your vicious putdowns
My attempt at being cool
And popular exploded in my
Face, and decimated all my
Confidence. It’s just like school!
I’d join those playground conversations.
A loser with a nervous smile
And snippy girls with bitchy putdowns
Let me know I was a problem.
You’re not cool with me? It’s not my
Problem. In this conversation
I smile, impervious to putdowns.
Tom Juniper Poetry 