Poetic Foreplay

(Martin Elster and Joan Axelrod-Contra)
 
“Let’s write a ghazal. It’s like a puzzle,”
   says Norm. Zip blurts out, “No!
Meter and form are beyond me, Norm.
   It’s time for you to go!”
 
“Zip, rhythm comes first, the cadence immersed
   in the beat of our feet on the street.”
She rolls her eyes. “It’s all a guise.
   With rules, words struggle to meet.”
 
“Free verse is a soupy, goopy stew
   sloshing from a can.”
“Meter’s a crusty, musty fruitcake
   in a rusty pan.”
 
Zip caresses Norm, then presses
   her lips to his to muzzle him.
Peppermint-sweet with passionate heat,
   which only serves to puzzle him.
 
“Your metronomics cause histrionics,”
   says Zip, “hence my distraction.”
Norman smirks. “All my counting works:
   That kiss was three iambs in action!”
 
Zippy sighs. “Way to analyze!
   Only you could greet
a passionate kiss with metrical bliss.
   Let’s dance to life’s off-beat!”

Martin Elster
 
If you have any thoughts about this poem,  Martin Elster would like to hear them.