Tuesday, March 13, 2012

Another Poem that Never Made It to Fruition

This one's not so bad. As Maxine Kumin, famed-now-dead poet, who I hated, would have said, "There's too much 'furniture' in this poem." Fuck that. At least this idea was in easy but vivid imagery.

On Any Average Day

I could catch butterflies on my tongue
Never mind that I hate bugs
Although I believe these are insects.
I could stare cross-eyed at its design
And cry when it flies away.

I could advise a balloon
Not to float near sharp wires
Give it directions to my house
And cry when it loses its air.

I could sell a hen a lottery ticket
Plan how we'd spend the money
Copy the winning numbers
Announced by a sequin-clad woman on TV
And cry when the hen doesn't win.

I could let you wash my hair in the shower
Savor the massage of thick oatmeal shampoo
Bend down and kiss your thighs and their goosebumps
Pretend for once I'm not claustrophobic
And smile.

(That one was for Craig, 1993)

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