I am apparently stuck on the theme of soup. I can’t resist the urge to claim the status of “published poet” by posting something I wrote in my teenage years. I think I was under some kind of personal dark cloud at the time, so to get the full effect, picture me reading it with great expression and wearing all black in a darkened café with candles. Plus I’m wearing a beret. I’m beginning to think I have always been a closet existentialist.
Crumbs
by Julie
I am a saltine cracker crumb
afloat in a tomato sea.
Tell me – did I choose to come
and doggy-paddle endlessly?
Or did Evolution’s mighty thumb
disperse my fellow flakes and me
into this
of human mediocrity?
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3 comments:
that's great. I get a huge kick when I go back and read my adolecent poetry. hmmm, like jr. high, there is nothing quite like it!
Ahhhh, I see the problem here. Tomato soup must be infused with Goldfish cracker goodness for a delicious meal and for brightened spirits. Who can't resist smiling back at the little Goldfish smiles, I ask you?
One of my favorite songs of all times is by Jonatha Brooke entitles Crumbs. Good stuff.
CRUMBS
I see the dark cloud; it's right over there... oh. You meant-- never mind. But your description fits; if you'd been immersed in say, anger and cynicism instead, the poem would likely have a different ending.
"...soupy sea of human scum."
Or something.
;-)
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