The Slam: Slammables
After Being Told to Get Counseling
by pinkie, USA
I imagine myself
in the sanctuary of the timpani room.
Mentally I close the door behind me
and flip the lock. The rug emits its rubbery smell,
awakened by the tropical heat from
the jammed, clicking, senile radiator.
I take off the lids and am surrounded
by four friends' shining faces.
I press my thumb into the dents on the heads,
untune the pedals and open the window.
I climb onto the stool, lean back against the wall,
and unwrap a baloney sandwich.
A whiff of left-behind cologne -- four silent friends --
Friends and the chance to pound on something are better.
I don't usually read poetry, but I really like this, and I'm wondering why no one else has commented. Maybe nobody else knows what timpani is, but whatever.
I love the last line.
critiqued by MiniPirate, Norwalk, OH
Aug 21, 2010
Aug 21, 2010
I like how personal this is. How the title states the problem, and then the actual poem is the reaction. The images this poem creates are really great, and I like how you force the reader to take pauses between couplets. At first I didn't, because I thought that it made the piece kind of jerky, but I think that adds to the feel of the poem.
A question: Why does the narrator imagine unwrapping a baloney sandwich? What does that contribute to the poem?
Otherwise, awesome job! This is a really solid poem.
critiqued by m.black, Iowa
Aug 22, 2010
Aug 22, 2010
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Thanks for the comment!
About the baloney sandwich: the timpani room would be more than just a place to pound on stuff. I could sit back and have lunch, and know that the timpani were waiting and ready when I was, if that makes any sense.
But I'll keep that in mind, in case I think of a way to make it better.
critiqued by Pinkie, USA
Aug 24, 2010
Aug 24, 2010
Slammings