When two or three
wire coathangers
are gathered together
anger arises.
By day, they hang out
demurely, side by side.
By night they couple closeted
in passionate love
and if disturbed,
fall locked together
in embrace
to their clackhiss fate
and wake the whole house.
Mine NEVER hang demurely, and yes, they do wake up the house when they fall. Bloody nuisances. Love, Fran xx
the pattern you've scribed here and the conciseness of thought almost leads me to think you're onto a new Eastern form of poetry. i rather enjoyed its brief, booming statement.
You should see what happens when knickers get in a twist. That's REALLY maddening. Thank you for an unusual morning laugh!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A very clever and wry observation about how these beings proliferate! I'm with Joan Crawford: 'No More Wire Hangers, Ever! ! ! ' Wood is so much more civilized! A tight and pungent write! Best, Hugh