'Mediocre at best.' She says arching her sarcastic brow
'How? ' She asks 'Can a brow be sarcastic.'
'Oh it can I assure you.' I say 'And yes maybe I am a mediocrity
but I'm my mediocrity.
'No.' She says proprietorial a possessive gleam in her eye 'You are my mediocrity.'
the Muse is blonde today and she has decided to wear
pastel shades not a good look on such a statuesque woman, I think.
'Sunday best darling.' She trills.
'But you are not religious.' I say
'But I am darling, I am a Buddhist, Christian, Muslim, Jewish and every shade between religious, I have no prejudices.'
'Um I, ' say'Well be a little more charitable in my case it might might help.'
She ruffles her brow.
'There you go again.' She exclaims 'How can a brow be ruffled? '
'Look' I spit back 'I just want to a quiet Sunday to reflect.'
'Well look in the mirror.' she says tartly 'If its reflection you want, mediocrity from head to foot.'
I try to think of a witty riposte but she has flown.
Never get the last word I think
'Never.' her voice echosand she had gone in a fluster of pink chiffon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem