Full of twigs, a fake nail, and ratted all to hell.
Stopping, I smoked & prepared, I examined it up close.
Toeing it around, I imagined myself in it, dancing.
That's when a security guard intervened for a match.
Lighting up, then exhaling, he asked if it was mine.
I laughed out loud before stating "nothing here was mine."
Instantly, I knew whoever wore it slept inside the bush.
Looking around before going in, I searched for its match.
Finding no one, I went in for what was sure to be hell.
Secretary Glib, sighs, keeping time to her nail's dancing.
Seated while flipping mag ads, I knew this would be close.
A loudspeaker informs her, "be sure he's shaved close"
Caring as much as her cup, which reads "Where's mine?"
She sends me in with a flick of a hand no longer dancing.
I notice her nail color, it's like the one by the wig bush,
But since I'm at the door, I blow it off to earn my hell.
We all have our equal good & evil prizes in life to match.
I enter the plush boardroom praying my suit & tie match.
They fucking don't, and in fact, they're not even close.
Deaf & silent, I read lips that state, "You look like hell"
Portfolios, and jelly donuts, next to a box labeled mine.
There's his assistant, all smirks with a 70's porno bush.
A fact I can now claim from when we went mattress dancing.
An earfull of cutbacks before I'm fired by Mr. Lap Dancing.
Holding my career box, I think, that wasn't a fair match.
So I make my way back out into the world of the wig bush.
The wig's gone as I realize that I've never been so close
To remotely understanding their needy love, or yet, mine.
If heaven's a 9-5, I should just get comfortable in hell.
The Secretary emerges to invite me back to her own hell.
She claims that there is finger foods, and sleep dancing.
Hand in hand, we stroll to see if hers' is better'n mine.
It is, there are tons of wigs and heads that don't match.
Aghast, I'm resting more now knowing mine's not even close.
Because she's more than headless wigs inside of a wig bush.
It's nice to know that her hell's a thing I can not match.
After trying on wigs and square dancing we become close.
A love to call my own with a great job by her own wig bush.
Author notes
Jesus Foetus on Rye with a dash of Spuna baby!!!
This is a Sestina people, a style that takes years to
master, though it took me a day, ten years ago, now you may Weep.
Lowly trite poets and bend to the power of SPUNA! (gags on a chunk of corn, and clutches at his neck)
Written December 17th, 2003
In a list
A contest entry
- :) by Nam.
300 points, ended May 28, 2006, 1 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
What did you think
Comments
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Sestinas are hard as fuck to write in my opinion. And to find one called "Wigging out" well.... you could slap me happy with that. Was hoping you'd enter this one. Thanks
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lol...you are the master... Write on, poet.
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This is really... it makes me want to work in an office to see what thats like. This is sort of exactly what I was looking for.
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I've never seen a sestina poem before, or come across the form so I'm going to have to go research that now - thanks for showing it to me!
Excellent poem however - attention to detail was impressive and on a whole, it told a story well - nice job and best of luck in the contest. -
Awesome
This was actuallly quite serious... It was very well thought out and kept me on my seat... -
Lol, yeah, I haven't got to picking the category yet, so that was just there when I pre-submitted, no pun intended.
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Content was intriguing. Never really appreciated sestinas before. I enjoyed this piece very much.
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I don't much care for sestinas, but this one is a hoot. I suppose you were laughing at the world the way you usually do, and that's okay as far as it goes. You did write in some intriguing hints about a lot of things. From reading this, I would think you should be writing novels. My sestinas are awfully tame compared to yours.
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i dont think this poem was funny at all. I found it very serious which is weird cuz i take one look at a potato and crack up. I have a cousin, well had a cousin, who had a very serious disease and was "no better then a carrot" and i regret not visiting her more often, well it was a good poem i just think you put it in the wrong category because i found it very depressing.
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Good Sestina! A lot more than I have ever been able to do with the form (it has always fascinated me, but I have never fully learned to utilize it). As a college student I am definately not looking forward to the 9-5 job and this poem does a great job describing the ridiculousness and conformity of that world in metaphorical terms.
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Eh...I dont really get it. Im sure I would if I knew what a Sestina was, but unfortunatly I dont. This is a pretty good poem. If I did know what a sestina was, and understood this, it would probally be a better poem. However, it was still set up nice.
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What a wonderful read. The Sestina is new to me, thanks for introducing. However, I regret to say that the form does not fit the rhyme scheme I wanted. I would like to THANK YOU for joining. Your entry is equally appreciated. My applause and 50 points to you.
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Well, the sestina has to be my favorite form poetry. You did a good job, and you are braver than I am, because I have never written one. Maybe one of these days I will give it a try. -
Well from someone here, who doesn't know her sedoka from her senryo or her quatern from her quatrain and always has her nonets in a twist, I'll believe you when you say this is a sestina, and I'm sure a perfect example of one too
Kat -
You know I love this one. Thanks for entering.
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Fascinating. You do well with the sestina. It astounds me that a coherent idea can come from such a crazy form.
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sounds like my wigged out cousin one day he sober and the next day he blew his soberiety over a girl landed his but in jail 3 months and when i came out he was haveing problems
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It's a metaphorical poem about trying to maintain one's identity in a 9-5 existence.
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before I comment be sure to state which choice this poem was entered for, thanks.. Crystal










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