Ode to the Designer Plastic Bag

Ok. So today I'm cheating. I've been busy dealing with the construction site that my apartment has become over the past week. So I'm posting a poem I wrote for a Post-modern American Poetry class I took a few years ago when I was at AUB. Enjoy. Or not. :)

By the way: You can look forward to my review of London and Beirut clubbing tomorrow. Its quite the anthropological piece. It has Money, Sex and Power. Goodie. You'll be able to read it here or on my friend Musa's blog (www.tariq.me.uk)

Note: The weird structure of the poem is intentional. It isn't your web browser playing mind games with you. It's something about structure influencing the reading of it. Or something. It was a while ago. (This note was in response to Ghadi calling me a technologically incapable buffoon)

Ode to the Designer Plastic Bag

Prada intoxication

Alone,

all you can buy

handbags.

blend of

glossy

magazine scents,

aroma of

heavenly-priced coffee

freshly

upholstered interiors,

whiff of compassion.

luminous

metal,

blinds

beautifully

the

clap

pit

ty

clap

of heels ricochets against the

gleaming

window-fronts,

perfectly

groomed

devotees

trot the street

Intoxicated

Alone.