It’s another hump day and I’ve written (to prompt) a poem that “addresses itself or some aspect of itself.”

I attempted a bit humor using personification, elements of poems, and dialogue (dialogue poems are legit) between two old poem friends.

If I get ripped for being a little sexist, so be it. Bukowski, I’m not.

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The Dialogue Readings

Frankie. Wake up! We have a problem.

My name is Francesca. Not Frankie.
What is it now Gabbie?

I’m Gabriella.

Whatever. What’s your problem?

It’s poetry month and he’s picking poems
to read at that open mic thingy.

So what? He does that every month.

He abandoned us years ago.
Now he wants to dress me up and take me out.
He wants to upgrade my imagery.
My metaphor needs to be adjusted.

This scheme makes my verse look fat.
Look, my couplets are sagging!
And my rhymes sound forced.

Gabbs, all rhymes are forced, don’t worry.
And your couplets are pure soliloquy.

What meter will he dress me in?
I’ve lost my rhythm and sorry,
but I forget what that metaphor was for.

At least you’re not a limerick. Or worse,
an ode pastoral haiku.
You got standup stanza, Girlfriend!

Well, I still think my verse is a bit terse,
And my assonance isn’t what it was.
But my onomatopoeia still got its boom-boom.

Sounds wonderful. What are you going to wear?

I think my sonnet bonnet beats that old free verse fedora.
Over my enclosed rhyme-wear, that pentameter blouse
goes well with my cinquain studded skirt.
I saw some nice narrative-tercet flats to tell his sorry story.

You’ll be poetry personified, Gabriella.
Now let me go back to sleep. Have fun.

Hey, sestet, you’re getting read too.
So get ready, Frankie, dear Francesca.

What? Ode noooo.

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Look both ways at the new and the old.
Mind the gaps, especially when you stereotype.