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Sunday Sauce: This is how I met my wife.

This poem was a part of the workshop from hell.  The theme of the class was on space as in the space between us and how it can be written about.  So because I wasn’t really feeling the class, when it was my turn to be workshopped, I decided I would incorporate a fart as the theme of my work.  Only a couple kids in the class thought it was funny.  But seriously?  How better to convey the space between us than a fart in an elevator?  It was perfect.

 

 

This is how I met my wife.

By: Michael Barone

An Awkward Silence swelled within my ears.

My eyes steered towards those baby blues.

My nose took a pull from her icing flavored skin.

Pressing firmly against the bottom button,

I began to imagine.

I tasted my haste as a hesitation.

My word bank became vacant and the A/C was making me chilly.

Noun boundaries compounded with soundless fences surrounded my senses, but didn’t completely cloud them.

I could still hear.

It was as though she was carefully releasing the pressure of a shaken up 20 oz. Coke, testing her luck, so as not to have it explode.

But where was the Coke?

I smelled it.

I smelled it before the door opened for four businessmen, so it couldn’t have been them.

It could not have been them.

They walked straight into an ambush.

Hushing in a story of disgust that was told through the nostrils of these mere mortals.

The door was a portal, which quickly became an escape.

The four men ran away, but of course,

I stayed.


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