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a poem by Edward Randell

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The Outsiders' Beach Party

by Edward Randell

So Meursault turns a somersault
In summer's salty breeze;
The Arab dances arabesques -
"You kill me!", he tee-hees;

Camus amuses everyone
By walking on his knees;
While Sartre, chuckling, places film
In camera. "Say cheese!"

Now even Robert Smith has found
The cure to his disease:
Slap on the Factor 45
And lighten up, mate, please.

Notes:

Prompted by revision boredom (staring at the spine of a book in the EFL called "Somersault"), and vague memories of reading tiresome existentialism for French A-Level. I actually quite like The Cure.

Posted: 28th April 2009
Words: 61
Viewed: 487 times
Comments: 0

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