Poetry Time: Day in the Life

I subscribe to Writer’s Digest, and the October issue included an article about the poetic form called “paradelle,” which was invented by Billy Collins as a parody of the villanelle and similar forms. I loved the example that was published in the magazine, so I wrote my own. (I promise, my life is not as depressing as the poem makes it sound!)

I weep for my sins but never confess. Never improve.
I weep for my sins but never confess. Never improve.
Wave at the man in the red truck.
Wave at the man in the red truck.
My sins in the red truck.
Weep for the man.

Listen to the music of his Southern accent. He was married at nineteen.
Listen to the music of his Southern accent. He was married at nineteen.
I can see him. He cannot see me. Nonsense, garbage.
I can see him. He cannot see me. Nonsense, garbage.
Nonsense of his Southern accent.
I was married to him at nineteen—garbage.

Burn my eyes on screens, government minutiae.
Burn my eyes on screens, government minutiae.
I confess. He says, “I see,” and changes the subject.
I confess. He says, “I see,” and changes the subject.
Confess my minutiae on screens.
Burn the government. Pour.

Improve. Never listen to the man
in the red truck. My sins weep, burn my eyes.
Married at nineteen. Garbage on screens.
I see the red music of his Southern accent—nonsense.
I confess.
He changes the subject—minutiae.

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