Doubleshot

The only thing exceeding the number of submissions in my inbox is the number of requests to hear so-and-so's poem. Unfortunately as with any contest, especially one with so desirable a prize, the runners-up (runner-ups?) are destined to be forgotten in time, and I think it best I not share them with you at all. Instead I'll continue sharing some oddities with you.

There was a glaring hole on my authors list from one normally well regarded for her creativity. I dared not inquire, lest she merely be polishing a certain winner, but finally I noticed a submission from her substantially lesser fifth--he can't be half--hidden well by his name choice which offers some perplexing explanation.

this is just to say

by gregander lapope

my wife will not

be participating

in your little

contest

it is beneath her

and she has

womanly duties

to perform

forgive me

or not

I don't

care

I'm sure you're as shocked as I am at this, but ultimately, I'm just glad he didn't compose a lengthy satirical allegory which would have been tedious, at best, to read. I'll make a direct appeal: break the chains of your imprisonment, if but for a minute.

I'd dwell on it a little more, but I actually have a more pressing issue. After so recently feeling the pain of a broken heart, its difficult for me to see the many submissions of past suitors hoping to rekindle fires never ignited. I implore you, sirs, if I have granted you no attention, I am not playing coy; leave me be. Here is an example submission:

this is just to say

by name redacted (but we'll call him boudreaux)

I never thought

myself worthy

of a girl

so perfect

was I wrong

to see desire

in the face you

favored me?

forgive me

that look

that dream

will not fade

I wonder how dismissive I would have been in a previous time. Oh, certainly, I won't be speaking with this individual, I was fair and direct months ago, so I owe him no explanation. But what hope is there for him? What release can he find from his persistent dream? What words do I want to hear, that I might share with him, that might grant us that release? This is the conundrum of language. Even if there are the right words, we are not likely to know them. But right words or not, saying something is better than nothing.

This is the story of Petrarch, to know love like a furious summer storm, but to know that feeling is not real, and will not be returned. Life is not a fairy tale and the boy does not get the girl. So, to all the men holding out hope against hope, I'm just not into you. Please stop trying to contact me