I’d hoped that I might get to 50 pandemic poems in 2020. It feels like a nice place to stop. This second to last poem is one for the poets. As restrictions have eased and there are in-person events to get to. I’m finding the new language of the online poetry spaces is bleeding into the real world and it’s kind of awkward.
New Shit
I want to wiggle my fingers into your face
When I’m jazzed
I want to shower you with sparkles
Kick ball change and click click click
I’m jazz, baby
This meeting in person thing is super fressshhh
But I forget that you’re not versed
In the language of online poets
Sorry if I look like a mess
I keep forgetting that I have legs
And I’m turning up to places
Wearing the zoom mullet
All business on top
Pyjamas on the bottom
Walking around like an actor’s headshot
Not knowing where to look
At your 3D face
So I wiggle my fingers impulsively
To show you I agree
I hear you, I get it
It’s not just me
We’re all trying out new shit