get the barf bag...

oh dear god do i hate reading poetry on people's blogs and, if you share my sentiment please, i beg you, just log off now. it's late and i can't help myself..... remember, i'm on some serious post-op drugs just strong enough to make me do things i'll regret while not actually killing any pain.........

hopefully i'll never be compelled (ie forced by the wicked fates of nighttime-insomnia-post-coital-well-what-the-hell-do-i-do-with-myself-now-you-silly-snoring-red-head) to do this again, but here we go......
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she wanted to come early
so mother made bloody mary’s
hoping she’d wait til brunch
or at least september.
it was the last time
she was ontime.

at one i held her as she squirmed through the nights,
crying as soon as i placed the pillow between her arms,
and only dozing off as the sun pierced the slit in the curtains.

at two she polished the furniture
with squeeze parkay –
beaming with pride.
nina wouldn’t spank her –
afraid, she said, that she couldn’t quit.

at four she tried to jump off
the uss Alabama –
maybe a hundred feet in the air.
“swimming, swimming” she cried,
as she pointed toward mobile bay.

at nine she said monkeys were on her dresser.
and they carried her away to the hospital
vomiting and seizing.

at ten she grew twentyfour inches -
and breasts -
before her time.

at fourteen they put her in the scary hospital,
intervention center, they said,
made her confess
sins that she made up to please them.
she kicked them with her combat boots
and then became docile.

at twenty one she bore my baby
blue
– dead i thought –
who screamed for two years
and who said to me yesterday
“when can i come be with you?”

at twenty seven she slept in my bed
broke my dishes
drank my wine
and made me wonder
why I watch her
still
with wonder
with longing
and with the strangest twinge
of joy
mixed with sadness

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yeah, yeah, yeah - at least it's better than some drivel i've come across....


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