4/03/01: A Villanelle

So -- you remember villanelles, right? Those poems with the repeating lines in them? I love villanelles. They’re like a jigsaw puzzle to put together. Sylvia Plath used to write tons of them. Um. And then she stuck her head in an oven. That's an unrelated event, I'm sure. In any case, here’s a villanelle written for all of you, with love, during this morning's status meeting.

True Story

I've been known to sometimes like a face,
A shoulder, voice, or how he cuts his hair --
but rarely are the pieces in one place.

There's a guy I find so fun to chase.
Why is he so dumb? It isn't fair!
I've been known to sometimes like his face.

I like kindness, with maybe just a trace
of anger -- but those moments must be rare.
It rarely gets together in one place.

The gentle soul so often goes to waste
If that crucial spark just isn't there.
Sometimes though, I just like the face.

The hottie often is a mental case,
and the kind man has an empty stare --
rarely are the pieces in one place.

I should take my list and just erase
it all because it's more than I can bear.
I've been known to sometimes like a face,
but never are the pieces in one place.