Was my tone ok? I was going for something
Dom-but-kitsch. Steed-like. Blossoming
in the art. Like I’m a task master.
I’m such a task master. Don’t tell, don’t get. I used
to think poetry was really easy then I figured
it was me that was really easy. Woke. I get
myself tangled but there’s always a way through
the kink. I used to write all my poems in the voice
of a cash fag – grovelling and apologetic – giving
myself a hard time – but I’m switching it up.
Shouldn’t have suffered that hesitation,
still getting the hang. The trigger was Deliveroo
bringing Pepsi instead of Max. I was drooling and
disappointed, like when the Arts Council
make some really unfathomable choice.
The emailee in question’s a new PT
I’m fluttering about, with a view to knocking
this pulpy banana bread back into its loaf tin.
And the reply came back sharp as an out of office:
ok keen bean, with a bicep emoji.