Tuesday, October 08, 2002

The South Asian Writers Group met again yesterday evening. We had some interesting poems, some subtly abstract and others weaving a rich web of poignant images.

After everyone disbanded, Chris and I drove to one of the outlets of Donatos Pizza (which for those not in the know, as I was, happens to be owned by McDonald's). We reached the place around 9:30pm and they had closed their indoor service early for lack of customers. We were forced to order a takeout (the coupon we had was a minor consolation), but had sodas on the house as consolation. Their Mariachi Chicken Pizza, which is what we ordered, is quite interesting: It's topped with sliced chicken breast with jalapeno peppers, sliced tomatoes, provolone, their own Mariachi Spice and a sprinkling of cheddar with sour cream on the side. Quite an interesting combination, and it made for a good change from the run-of-the-mill one-taste-fits-all pizzas dished out by Tech neighbours Papa Johns.

The meeting earlier today set me thinking about writing poetry. My cynicism makes for a poor match for the sensibilities required to write poetry (as Chris was kind enough to bluntly point this out:). However, I managed to strike gold with some atrocious verse, which I am glad to present below. Feel free to dismiss them as tripe, or pause to ponder deep hidden meanings.


A constant whirring
as the detergent unites with
the water washing over
ceramic and steel
supported on erect nodules
on a wirebasket
stoic as the waves of the centrifuge
raise a cleansing hell

The dripping continues
like the tinkling keys of a piano
cleansing cadences
sweeping suds
Clearly I'm going nowhere with this


Uniform and variegated
the garrulous packaging
of morning cereal
sharing the ubiquitous shopping cart
with a member of the cleaning mafia
shaped like a buxon belle
with a handle to boot
If only the cashier would hurry up

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