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sandra wyllie
Poems
Feb 2019
Emptiness is not an Easy Fix
No matter how I serve it,
it always tastes bland.
I baked it in a souffle, and it fell
flat on its face.
I set it aflame in brandy
and it burned.
I slow-cooked it in a crockpot
with seasonings all afternoon.
But it all stuck together
at the bottom
like a *** of tar and feathers.
After I steamed it,
it turned into a prune.
When I fried it in my pan
it blackened like a raven.
What was I to do?
I decided to return it
from whence it came from.
But I lost the receipt.
No one would take it back.
I’ll burry it in my yard after the thaw.
Written by
sandra wyllie
56/F
(56/F)
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