#32 - In Defence Of Long Poems

If you must know, I find low self-esteem
charming. Haikus have a swagger
that makes me want to dry retch,

like some kimono-clad arts professor
who swans into the party's second room,
announces some recondite maxim then

about-faces, inscrutible smirk
smeared all over his cheeks like jam.
Fuck him

and his lack of stamina
mascarading as high truth. Let us
each in turn follow him out that door

then buttonhole him in a corner
of the kitchen, lecturing him at the length
about the shape of conches

and appalling glue
till he cannot stand
for shrinking.