Dan Stathers – Poor Door Parody

‘Poor Door’ Parody

Dear Sirs, I am no longer able to fulfil my position
as swing door to your apartment block. This decision
was not taken lightly, and whilst grateful for the opportunity,
I have, of late, been feeling the weight of enormous duty.
Sirs, I am confused. I want so dearly to greet everyone
who resides in our company with equal manner and discretion,
but your rule for one and not the other goes against
the very grain of my being and I find the whole pretence
both exhausting and demeaning. Here lies my objection.
For most, I am to open with due care and attention,
but for some, I am to begrudge even their reflection.
My feelings on this partition are now beyond retraction,
shouldn’t all our residents be welcomed by marble floor,
walk beneath chandelier, not just those who can afford
your steeper rents where money presents no problem?
I am not prepared to just stand here and ignore them –
those you would prefer to remain unseen and not heard
and reduce to using alleyways – how utterly absurd!
I am a door, I cannot be anything else, I know only
of comings and goings, of keys, of hinges, of lonely
nights, so by forcing me daily to pick and choose,
you are forcing me daily to neglect and abuse
the hands that push and pull and make me what I am
which is a door, so I implore you from stile to jamb,
do not let our fair city down, defend the rights of your
tenants, let them swing open the same front door
and share my convenience. I am a door not a wall.
Don’t try to warn me that pride comes before a fall,
because fall I will, onto a scrapheap if you keep
closing doors on people. Regretfully, yours. 

And here is how the poem sounds…https://soundcloud.com/jacklit-martian/a-poor-door-parody

Dan Stathers is a poet from Kingsbridge, South Devon.
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Dan Stathers – Bok Choy Neighbour

Bok Choy Neighbour

You might think us related
but I assure you we’re not.
My great grandfather was a Savoy
and yours most likely a turnip;
a noble profession I’m sure,
just a long frill short of my ilk.

We find your manners
frightfully gauche, but understand
that this is not entirely your fault –
we have our ‘certain ways’
just as you have yours.

I feel you are owed an apology
of sorts – those unseemly caterpillar rumours –
all rather unfortunate,
but sadly (for you),
mud has a habit of sticking.

We’re all agreed that you would feel
far more comfortable on another patch –
we thrive in our unspoilt space
and intend to keep it just so.

Please refrain from digging your heels in,
old chap,
just see this as a friendly warning.
Take as much time as you should need –

just be gone by tomorrow morning.

 

Dan Stathers is a poet from Kingsbridge in South Devon.