Mixed Metaphor Poem by Percy Dovetonsils

I just don’t care
the way I used to
what you’ve got
between your
lines.

I’m sure that,
young or old,
it’s something beautiful.
And there was a time
when I was totally
into it:
reading it,
listening for it,
plumbing its depths,
smelling it,
tasting it,
seeing it,
seizing it,
licking it,
piercing it,
puzzling over it,
letting it lead me
to hell and back.

But I’m not the
reader
I was.
I’d just as soon
sit back and daydream
as exhaust myself
with your
subtext.

Once I was
into the game,
nothing grabbed me more.
Now
I’m no player at all
and I realize
this makes me
ineligible
for the
Big Payoff.

And hey,
maybe you’re tired
of being read.
Maybe you’ve moved
beyond analysis.
Maybe what we
once had
between us
is gone and dead:
intriguer and intrigued
now ghosts.

No regrets, huh?
Let’s shake on it
and return
to our
respective corners.
And if you want
to retire the crown
and claim
you took
every round.
I won’t argue.
I’m sure
I never won
a thing.