Sunday, July 21, 2013

21 July 2013


poetry cooks my goose
chops me up, spits me out
stomps on my fingers
kicks me in the head

poetry saves me from the news
from women who lunch
from duplicate bridge, TV
celebrities, hairdos

poetry authorizes me to ignore
polite conversation
to poke at roadkill, to talk
to children instead of adults

poetry explains my moods
my madcop technicolor dreams
my lack of tact, my failure
to tell the truth or make sense

poetry acknowledges
my hatred for patriarchy
my disdain for your opinion
your politics, your religion

poetry makes me a poor
risk for the guest list
of your dinner party
but a good pal for your cat

1 comment:

  1. ha. this is great, and love that Tova.
    A good friend to the me cat too.