I am the dust jacket, the elegant obi strip,
The first edition which seduced you.
I am the blurb and the praise which promised to thrill.
I am the quote upon whose shoulders I stood
And tempted you with flavours, spices, petals
Scattered on lakes of swans and mayflies.
I am the opening words which reeled you in like a fish.
I am chapters I, II and III and by which time
You have found me irresistible to put down.
I am in your palms, in your bed,
Away with you on vacation.
I am the protagonist and antagonist of your dreams
And your desires, and that which you divine by my acts.
My word, in all truth, I am your lover;
The first person narrative making love to you
In the second person, suspending your disbelief
While the plot begins to thicken.
Then one day…
I am the book you put down for later,
The skipping of chapters, a plot hole as deep as a crater.
I am the unreliable narrator, unnecessary adverb,
The disappointing ending relinquishing all glamour
For a dog-eared cover and pages foxed.
I am destined for the cardboard box,
A trip to a high street charity shop, or worse –
Scribbled over by a child, pages torn out to light a fire,
Employed as a weapon to kill a spider,
Or just chucked in the bin without the consolation
Of knowing I might be recycled for something useful.
Alas, for me, there will be no sequel,
No trilogy, no adaptation, no making it into
Your Top Ten List.
There will be no twist.
This is the end.
Editor’s note: My poem Love Me Like a Book is inspired by the short poem Omission written by fellow WP blogger Cassa over at Flicker of Thoughts. Please check it out.
Love Me Like a Book poem by Ford 17 May 2021
Love Me Like a Book artwork – collage, acrylic paint and digital render by Ford 17 May 2021