Notes From The Poet's Nook: My Body Has Changed
There is this moment
When the mirror solicits an
Unwanted confess,
No tort or tortuous devices required,
The self-evident, undeniable.
It is almost as if someone punctuated your life with a
.
Traffic light. Stop. Red. Green. Go.
Stop n' go.
Periodically.
But while you're momentarily waiting
Some convertible-rider boys pull up aside,
Whooping n' hollering,
Cause they like what they espy,
A woman, no more a changeling,
That excites their almost mature juices.
You call them idiots,
Flip them the eagle bird,
Smiling somewhere where only you and
Poets can envision,
That grin, a womanly gleaming,
Deserves a poem unto itself.
Other moments, other lights,
When time whispers kindly,
It's now, today, is my-time.
Alone you go the drawer,
It's Bikini Collection Day.
Valuable space wasters,
Even that one, resident of the night table,
In the photo momentous,
You and the kids, on your lap,
Unchanged from the way you know it,
The one you swore forever keep.
Not to the trash they go,
After all, perfectly usable,
So drive to thrift store depository,
Where reusable dreams are stored,
And now future memories to be
Husbanded by someone else's husband,
On someone else's night table.
Got a mortgage, two college funds,
A ton of worries and a
Paunch, a gut, to hold 'em all.
Stand up straight, breathe in hard,
Still there, as if you didn't know, unchanged,
What ya gonna do about it?
You got too much stuff, no way it's the poet's fault!
Go to the couch and bake a plan!
Cause that's why linguists gave us, maybe and tomorrow,
My fav word when rhyming sorrowful...
You see that child in the photo next to me?
In the baby seat, skeptical of all the cooing noises?
That look I treasure, for she be my genes,
My grand baby, who trusts no one but
Mom and Dad to pick her up,
Sensibly cautious, even tho I blow kisses
On her belly button, the one that says Press Here,
For raucous laughter and present-ed her 25% of herself.
Nowadays, almost two,
Her body a change machine,
Now she is a pusher, not a pushee,
Pushing Elmo in his carriage
Look me up, but see her.
Dressed to the nines, a Manhattan lady.
I missed that moment, too many came, coming.
Changeup and fastball
The only pitches in her repertoire,
So far, but if her dad don't teach her a cutter
**** right you smarmy left handed hitting boys,
Her Poppy sure as sht will.
Ok, you know me. Got remind myself to stop
Before I get dribble mouth.
Guess that's kinda of a
Momentous change for me,
But lucky for you,
I can still do it,
Write a poem 1,2,3...
5, 6, 7, times a day,
If that stops, it wail be
Because....something changed me permanently.
July 6th, 2013
For my Izzy.