Blouse

An ugly shirt.

Her blouse is livid with loose ends of string

intertwined like feasting garden-worms.

That pompous scuffed tortoise-shell button

swinging from a sagging polyester lapel.

That feathered coffee stain from brunch, 1975

lazily hovering on her crooked collar.

The sluggish swish of tiny beige threads

tangled with dryer-lint and appliqué.

The scratch of dry skin and tight sleeves,

her nails dancing in profound pockets.

It talks when she talks,

it says what she doesn’t.

Reviews

[Kelly Scheppers]

Your metaphors are incredible...what a gift you have!

[Jamie Wilkinson]

Thank you! :)

[The Twin Arenas]

nice last two lines. can I make a suggestion? get rid of that last comma. I might also capitalize the last "It" as well, but what the hell do I know.

"Feathered coffee stain" is perfect. THAT'S what those things look like.

[Jamie Wilkinson]

Thanks! I might just make the last lines separate sentences all together :)

[The Twin Arenas]

Yeah, that's a good idea as well. Personally, just because something is sentence, I sometimes don't put a period on the end. Periods seem so final or something. Poetry gives you a license to f**k punctuation a little. I dunno. Great last two lines, anyway. Man, you could ALSO get rid of the second "It" entirely. That might read pretty cool as well.

[The Twin Arenas]

*a sentence, I mean.

[Jamie Wilkinson]

Alright! Thanks for the input ^_^