Jonathan ROBIN (22 September / London)
Juxtaposition of some strangers bent
At table, stretched across lit midnight hour.
Crass surface chit-chat. Artificial flower.
Kaleidoscope social experiment.
Spiralling smoke-ring roundels’ stuffy scent,
Airing ephemera, in-greed-[s]ense sour.
No potent notions could this potion power
Draw deep from urban[e] melting-pot which lent
Just stale approximations to present
Inept platitudes, de[s]sert tale dour.
Lies left each locked behind moat, drawbridge tower.
Little attempt at outreach argument.
Some spite, some superficial chatter which
Together scarce deserved this sonnet’s stitch.
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Comments about this poem (Dining Out by Jonathan ROBIN )
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