A Prose Poem
By J. R. A. Gigney
Sitting in a small car on the top deck of a supermarket car park somewhere in Essex; somewhere in time.
Surrounded by cars.
Some parked badly; some parked well; some too big for the space they're in; some small enough that they'd fit two comfortably in the same space.
Looking across from the car the upper stories of an office block shows it's blank unopened windows; the odd piece of personalised product stuck on the window sill supposedly making it's owners space more like home.
Below the people move in and out of the buildings moving past each other in sleepy uncomprehending waves.
Cars drive by unseen; people move unseen; trollys banging and clanging; drunks lolling on wooden seats.
The world of the supermarket car park in harmonic disarray...
And still I stare out into the near distance. No thoughts. No feelings. No actions. Just silence...
• All poems on this blog are original unless otherwise stated.
• Posted with BlogPress for iPhone.
Location:Green Trees Ave,,United Kingdom
Hmmm, I don't really know what a prose poem is... This describes your surroundings, with only the last line dedicated to the way you're feeling (pre- or post- migraine by the sound of it!), or not feeling, as the case may be... but is that a prose poem? Sorry Darling, I can't answer your question because I simply don't know!
ReplyDeleteAnyway, it sounds a bit grim, which is what you intended, I presume. Awfully suburban... and as a country girl it makes me shudder. If that's the response you were hoping for, then you've hit the nail on the head, regardless of what you call it.
L&K, Auntie Geeitstimeiturnedin...
Wotcha...
ReplyDeleteWhen I read your poem late last night it also struck me that that you use the word "some" too often in the first part.It reads a little like a shopping list... which could be deemed appropriate, given the location! Could you try re-writing that bit?
Keep yer chins up,
Auntie Gee
XXX