‘Am I pretty?’ Her brow twitched
‘Could beautiful hold synonymy?’
And her head itched
Musing o’er the archaic dichotomy
‘Could beautiful hold synonymy?’
And her head itched
Musing o’er the archaic dichotomy
…
Apparelled in an ill-fitted apron
A dame perches on a pouffe
With a paperback as her patron
She espouses the term aloof
Neighbouring her rippled reflection
She skims through the same page
And is foxed by its diction
But heedless of the savvy sage
Secretly phrased as a puppet
She loses herself in a fictional realm
Again deceived by a leaflet
Which she plucked from an elm
A sudden discernment crashes
That even fables aren’t fair
For ’tis either those fluttering eyelashes
Or that unkempt hair
Her quest drags on, of whether
One would fall in, or simply fall for
As she lets go of its tether
She rants mutely at her mentor-
‘How plain can Jane be?’
And she spilt ‘A cup of tea!’
~Poem 4
