Poetry and Prose arm wrestle some mornings.
Poetry is more refined,
of course, and has a smug self-assurance that
makes Prose uneasy, self-conscious.
Poetry despises arm wrestling.
Prose is ballsy.
No mincing words or fussing with the flower arrangement.
Prose just drops those suckers in and halfheartedly hopes they live.
Prose despises Poetry’s pomp.
It’s often unclear who wins.
Sometimes there’s a draw and no one gets the paper.
And even now, as muscles weaken and fists waver,
Poetry is certain he’s won.
Rupert Murdoch has already called the match and
everyone’s assumed that Poetry came out on top.
But Prose, the underdog of underdogs, the oft-dreaded truth-seeker,
has something to say. And he’s ready to play dirty if he has to.
This is going to be a long morning.
– Nisha Moodley