One Poem by Allan Lake

 

Small Meteorite

(not a review)

Gender-averse academic decides

to forge a name writing fiction.

That much is non-fiction.

Ivory towers mean nil to elephants

but can attract stray lingo-terrorists.

Words can kill, murder precious time.

Settle in a tower long enough and you

live without what lives without,

while conspiring with air-con.

 

Everything ‘it’ overwrites is engineered

for like inmates, who applaud on cue,

are acknowledged at arse end of book.

A homogeneous circle, if researched.

The vehicle – It’s prose – is driven

with both hands clamped onto the wheel.

Feigned skid/slide would have us see

driver as wild literary nutcase meteor.

Words ogle, require google. Endless

sentences with complexes wander

to wonderland. Odd place names drop

to sound of cymbals, references

obfuscate like opinionated orphans.

Plot and characters splatter, sour tart

in reader’s face. Taste that, consider

cost of ingredients that can’t be salvaged,

wonder what-the-hell. Itster splashed

but, despite personufactured in-tower

reviews, this reader was not digging

anything except indignation.

The waiting multitude, hungry as ever,

will still need a nutritious literary feed.

 

Allan Lake is a poet originally from Allover, Canada who now lives in Allover, Australia.  Some Coincidence! His latest chapbook of poems, 'My Photos of Sicily', was published by Gininnderra Press, 2020.  It contains no photos, only poems.