Metaphors and Similes
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I used to be a metaphor machine.
The sultan of simile.
An elderly woman’s thinning hair,
Falling to the ground like ashes off the burning end of a cigarette.
Your untied shoelaces once were
Worms on the pavement after the rain.
Your arms were wires and hooks
And I was a freshwater fish.
Billy Collins and I both knew you were
The crystal goblet and the wine.
The way you walked getting stuck in my head
Like too many shots of vodka.
A scattered snowfall on the ground
Was a poorly frosted cake
And the stars in the sky
Were marbles, rolling across a sandy beach.
My mind was a ferris wheel:
A never-ending, spinning circle
Collecting and releasing strangers.
You got stuck at the top when the power went out.
Your voice was the deep-end of a pool.
Cut with chlorine and chemicals.
My hands and feet were bricks when you spoke,
Sinking to the bottom of your vinyl lining.
You were a bird, a young child.
You were like the smell of the ocean.
You were as sturdy as the door handle on my father’s truck.
You were a newly sharpened pencil, a striped scarf.
You were my old keyboard, with faded white letters.
You were my blue Bic pen, with a chewed up cap.
Now I’m just me.
And you’re just like you.
A mundane metaphor.
And a straightforward simile.