This is like a short, short story . . . possibly Poetic Prose, even. There is no rhyme or meter and the prose is not just "broken into little chunks," but rather broken to add drama to the story. It's not a story that resolves, but leaves the reader to form conclusions or wonder what happens next. It also presents a certain amount of social commentary which is, afterall, the poet's job. Let me make that very clear: The job of a poet is to offer social commentary and to cause people to think, or re-think what they take for granted. It is to move people out of complacency for which I have created an "edgy" quality; something that cuts. Here is my offering for you today.
What?
Margaret V. Doran
He slipped into bed and I smiled
snuggling into him
instantly I knew: he had been
with another woman;
since the day we started dating
all those years ago,
I had to forgo
perfume of any kind
because of his allergies.
But tonight he reeked of something
flowery, sensuous, intimidating.
And he wasn't sneezing or coughing.
He must have sensed the cold
he pulled back and peered at my
face there in the dim light
of the alarm clock
“What?” he demanded.
