The faintly sordid
yet strangely enticing
scent of an alewife
wafting over the soggy alphabet
pasta in a shallow basin,
the paperback Memoirs
of a Woman of Pleasure on the side,
and a plain handkerchief
freshly stained with shame—
a rite of passage of sorts,
but mostly a prelude
to hassle.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
Taking advantage of the ever-bright evenings
and equally ablaze early mornings,
Mr Honk tried to draught a civilised society
where masturbation, like potty training,
was just another hygiene practice, not at all so
curiously repulsive in a bourgeois gentilhomme
as to end up as a full-dress performance
in front of a mirror in a timid Lutyens.
More words to ponder at maciejmodzelewski.com
If every sexually transmitted disease is a cause for shame,
why aren’t we ashamed of the deadliest of them all—life?
It has its moments—that’s true—but above all, it is a fight
against the daily dose of monotony. Sooner or later, we fall
for it—that if we learn the alphabet, then the highway code,
and follow the laid-out path, putting on a front, we will find
time to buy a ticket to bliss—only to get on the wrong train.
hidden pilcrow 