Contentless Levis
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
The mushroom sitting next to me has curls
On top. He emanates as boring as
Accounting made of grungy beige, smudged pearls.
His shirt is colored like a mushroom’s jazz
Though not that charismatic. We suspect
His shoulders hide steel scrubbing pads inside
Those polo sleeves. I worry he’ll infect
Me with ennui as dull as East Kilbride
Though he is Waitrose English through and through.
The bourgeoisie personified, he makes
His tidy notes. MacDonalds cheese, not bleu,
He yields, extruding nearly tasteless shakes.
No indication is apparent in
His crotch that he has ever bulged to sin.
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