Poem - MAG Poetry Prize 2010

Pop Show of November

by Octavia Wylie
Edinburgh, UK

Pop it goes, swinging round  
Popcorn in the microwave,
Popular with most.  A cry behind;
Popeyed at the;
Popgun.  Stuffed full of;
Poplin. Hit in the;
Popliteal.
 
Poppet, don’t do that now.
Popper’s sounding, sweets finished. 
‘Poppa!’ A jump of joy.
‘Popcorn!’  Then a father’s sigh,
‘Popover for you if you don’t;
Pop off.’ Now playing with the
Popgun.  At the; 
Poplar.   Something about;
Popedom?
 
Poppy lying on the floor.
Popinjay just let it fall, like all the;
Pop wine. That they would’ve downed.
Populating the;
Pop-top.   Thinking of the;
Poppy. Lying on the floor, like all the;
 
Souls.  Of those he loved.

Added: 29.04.2010

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