A little late for National Poetry Month, but totally amazeballs:
An imagined open letter from the justifiably disgruntled wife of poet William Carlos Williams, the man who wrote this famed poem:
I have eaten
that were in
you were probably
they were delicious
and so cold
Dear literary critics:
You guys are assholes.
Did you even read the poem you claim is so brilliant? First off, my husband ate all my fruit, and then instead of apologizing in person he left a post-it note admitting that he did it, but that he had a good reason which was basically “I wanted to“. And not only does he eat all my plums, also he ends the post-it telling me how goddam delicious they are. I know how delicious plums are. That’s why I was saving them for breakfast.
You people read this poem…
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