A POEM by ROBERT ALLEN

UGOLANO, PRINCE OF MISFITS

WHEREIN WE MEET OUR CAST OF CHARACTERS


Ugolano yawned.

Misfits have no idea

what to do.

Sitting on uncomfort

able chairs symbolising

soul ache

The misfits stutter in

Their shoe

gazing and

needs, of

things introvert:

cheap Olympia beer (to mask

the pain of suffering), they

drank of, glass tinkling

as the medicine

goes down.

Ugolano sniffed the

Misfits;

They smelled

odd. Fierce.

Ugolano

Nosed them

seeking

something sugary but

smelled of bland bore

dom and old

Clothes.

Misfits,

born out of time, simply,

in the wrong zone

or home time.

The Prince

bundles his cold,

sniffing dull, thinking,

all the while, of

his Kingdom and

who peopled it.

One final scentless

sniff; Ugolano

fell in his bed, a stone,

tired.

envoi

Now we have met Ugolano and

his sad cast; now they have

met you, openly, all sense

shown: today, a sniff

and snort.

 

Robert Allen writes poems.