There's a Pom Pom there's a puppy
Where's the Pom poms? Where's the puppy?
The are  stuck together Pom Pom puppy!
Wait there is two!
Pom Pom puppies!
Made by me!

Old Deuteronomy’s lived a long time;
He’s a Cat who has lived many lives in succession.
He was famous in proverb and famous in rhyme
A long while before Queen Victoria’s accession.
Old Deuteronomy’s buried nine wives
And more—I am tempted to say, ninety-nine;
And his numerous progeny prospers and thrives
And the village is proud of him in his decline.
At the sight of that placid and bland physiognomy,
When he sits in the sun on the vicarage wall,
The Oldest Inhabitant croaks: “Well, of all …
Things… Can it be … really! … No!… Yes!…
**! hi!
Oh, my eye!
My mind may be wandering, but I confess
I believe it is Old Deuteronomy!”

Old Deuteronomy sits in the street,
He sits in the High Street on market day;
The bullocks may bellow, the sheep they may bleat,
But the dogs and the herdsmen will turn them away.
The cars and the lorries run over the kerb,
And the villagers put up a notice: ROAD CLOSED—
So that nothing untoward may chance to distrub
Deuteronomy’s rest when he feels so disposed
Or when he’s engaged in domestic economy:
And the Oldest Inhabitant croaks: “Well, of all …
Things… Can it be … really! … No!… Yes!…
**! hi!
Oh, my eye!
My sight’s unreliable, but I can guess
That the cause of the trouble is Old Deuteronomy!”

Old Deuteronomy lies on the floor
Of the Fox and French Horn for his afternoon sleep;
And when the men say: “There’s just time for one more,”
Then the landlady from her back parlour will peep
And say: “New then, out you go, by the back door,
For Old Deuteronomy mustn’t be woken—

I’ll have the police if there’s any uproar”—
And out they all shuffle, without a word spoken.
The digestive repose of that feline’s gastronomy
Must never be broken, whatever befall:
And the Oldest Inhabitant croaks: “Well, of all …
Things… Can it be … really! … No!… Yes!…
**! hi!
Oh, my eye!
My legs may be tottery, I must go slow
And be careful of Old Deuteronomy!”

Of the awefull battle of the Pekes and the Pollicles:
together with some account of the participation of the
     Pugs and the Poms, and the intervention of the Great
     Rumpuscat

The Pekes and the Pollicles, everyone knows,
Are proud and implacable passionate foes;
It is always the same, wherever one goes.
And the Pugs and the Poms, although most people say
That they do not like fighting, yet once in a way,
They will now and again join in to the fray
And they
Bark bark bark bark
Bark bark BARK BARK
Until you can hear them all over the Park.

Now on the occasion of which I shall speak
Almost nothing had happened for nearly a week
(And that’s a long time for a Pol or a Peke).
The big Police Dog was away from his beat—
I don’t know the reason, but most people think
He’d slipped into the Wellington Arms for a drink—
And no one at all was about on the street
When a Peke and a Pollicle happened to meet.
They did not advance, or exactly retreat,
But they glared at each other, and scraped their hind
     feet,
And they started to
Bark bark bark bark
Bark bark BARK BARK
Until you can hear them all over the Park.

Now the Peke, although people may say what they please,
Is no British Dog, but a Heathen Chinese.
And so all the Pekes, when they heard the uproar,
Some came to the window, some came to the door;
There were surely a dozen, more likely a score.
And together they started to grumble and wheeze
In their huffery-snuffery Heathen Chinese.
But a terrible din is what Pollicles like,
For your Pollicle Dog is a dour Yorkshire tyke,
And his braw Scottish cousins are snappers and biters,
And every dog-jack of them notable fighters;
And so they stepped out, with their pipers in order,
Playing When the Blue Bonnets Came Over the Border.
Then the Pugs and the Poms held no longer aloof,
But some from the balcony, some from the roof,
Joined in
To the din
With a
Bark bark bark bark
Bark bark BARK BARK
Until you can hear them all over the Park.

Now when these bold heroes together assembled,
That traffic all stopped, and the Underground trembled,
And some of the neighbours were so much afraid
That they started to ring up the Fire Brigade.
When suddenly, up from a small basement flat,
Why who should stalk out but the GREAT RUMPUSCAT.
His eyes were like fireballs fearfully blazing,
He gave a great yawn, and his jaws were amazing;
And when he looked out through the bars of the area,
You never saw anything fiercer or hairier.
And what with the glare of his eyes and his yawning,
The Pekes and the Pollicles quickly took warning.
He looked at the sky and he gave a great leap—
And they every last one of them scattered like sheep.

And when the Police Dog returned to his beat,
There wasn’t a single one left in the street.

pretty pearl anklet
adorning your foot
tiara crown
princess ***** cow
all dressed up in a dark red
cherry sequined
come **** me dress
black lacquered nails
body beautiful prepped
for ordeal by *******
and pretty girl strangle
torture blood ****
wiggle wiggle
**** pink aglow
glistening hive
your mouth piece
bilingual
fucky and baby talk
all manicured and bejeweled
glitter and tears
***** food
inch worm lover
little bludgeon

your excited
for a bed of nails
what a luxury
legs spread wide
***** drool melt
your scent
a silk **** cocktail
in thick puce
stained pink milk pom poms
****** beyond tabulation
come sweet cow
its time for slaughter
down on your haunches
you look up
thrilled
dark dreams do come true
i love you
like the bog loves bones
embalmed in spice

This one time,

12. or 13, when me
And a bunch of other kids
From a different neighborhood
Played. Outside. From about sunup
To 9:00 at night. I dimly remember
(This light-bulb memory is the barest bit of energy
In an ancient filament of thought:)

It was a nightmare come to life.
There was this one kid across the River
(Rock Island)
They found him naked and dead,
In a discarded pile of coal.
His life brutally taken from him.
But that was the only time
I'd ever heard of something so horrible. Happening.
It was as commonplace as school shootings.
Which is to say, it didn’t happen in the
World that was ‘As Far As I Knew’.
Outside, everywhere, as far as I knew;
Was just where you went. No matter what.
It’s just what we did. And we did a LOT.

We played. On a job application, I would have
Written that. “Player”. As in: “Hey, I’m a kid.
I mess around. I’m unhygienic and smelly and
My hair is long and arms sunburned and sweaty
And tired and about as happy as any kid
Could be in 1975.

This one time,
I go in this dumpster and grab a
Sandwich the Mgr. of the 7-11 mistakenly threw out
It smelled. Badly. I pretended to take a gigantic
Bite out of it. My buddies weren’t ROTFL.
That stupid phrase was pre-born.
They laughed so hard they fell off their bikes.
Probably painfully so.
I worshiped this praise. Ate it like
Seinfeld eats applause.
They were rolling
On hot Iowa summer pavement, laughing fit to split.
On top of that dumpster, that day, in that single moment,
I was the King of Whatever

The manager heard some kind of ruckus.
The sandwich was in my hand, a cheesy spoiled grenade.
Which I promptly threw at him. ‘Cause he was the Adult
And I obviously wasn't Victor Mature.
He waddled back inside and called the Cops.
Not amazingly,
They were literally right around the corner.
My buddies took off like scalded dogs
I got on my homemade trail bike, laughing so
Hard I pedaled into a sticker-tree.

I didn't know what "irony" was back then.
Back then, I was so inherently goofy, that funny
Hilarious crap was somehow attracted to me.
Ironically, when I tried being funny on purpose...
Fill in the blank. There's a lesson in there somewhere.
I'm pretty sure.

We met at that French word I still can't spell.
Ron Day View.
Cackling like
Loony loons. We laughed out little butts off.

And we rode bikes EVERYWHERE.
Through the trails. There were bike
Trails trailing everywhere, short-cuts from point
Hay to Tree. And oh yeah, I climbed trees.
Constantly. And ate apples and plums from
That mean lady’s yard. She stood in her
Kitchen and glared through cat-eyed glasses,
Daring us. Daring me.
GO AHEAD. PICK JUST ONE SINGLE PLUM.
THEN I'LL CALL YOUR MOTHER!
(Interestingly, we didn't hang out with the
plums which didn't fall too far from Mrs. Tree)

Ate whatever was edible. Wild clover.
Yeah. Grass. And
Crab-apples that held the promise of
Painful bowel movements squirting out of
Your ****. Not ‘***’ because cussing wasn’t
All that big of a deal. You heard it in R movies.
But it hadn’t permeated the marrow of
Our entire culture. Not yet. It wasn’t all over
TV after, say, 8:45.

Nothing about ***. Absolutely Nuttin' Honey.
'Cause I'd be making stuff up in 1975,
When I was 12. Kissing was just...
You know.

We messed around, got into and out of trouble.
We laughed. The future hung over us like
Those mean-sounding thunderclouds,
Miles away, but moving from the North-East,
Because severe weather in Iowa always came
In the same direction.

It’s what we did. It’s just about
All we did as kids. Man, we were crazy, and had
Crazy fun.

We built bikes out of spare parts. They were low-
Slung and cool. Mine was always breaking.
I did a lot of stupid things, and somehow,
Somehow I got away with doing a lot of
Stupid things.

I believe in God. Now.
Way back then, I was Catholic. I don’t
Know if that sufficiently explains it
Or not. We ate fishsticks on Fridays during
Lent. We went to church sometimes
On Wednesday nights, the Guitar Mass,
And on Sundays. The Mass felt like it
Lasted 93 minutes, like our services do
Now. But it seemed to go on forever.
It as about 45 minutes, and we would always
“Leave Early” which meant, we’d take
Our Communion, solemnly, eyes
Downcast and humble, but I would slow,
Then stop, lost in the visage:
I looked up at the Man on the Cross and
Wondered when the Priest would ever
Get around to explaining why He
Died for my sins.
Someone would wake me from my
Reverie, and whisper, “Please move ahead.”
Shamefaced, I would say, truthfully,
“I’m sorry, Ma’am.” Because, in 1975,
When I was 12, I really was.
Sorry.

Then an hour
Later I was dressed in
Salvation Army rags (today)
And I would jump in the creek with my
Jean-shorts and off-color shirt on.
Sometimes, the bikes weren’t in the picture.
So we hiked. Never ‘walked’ but “hiked” which
Was moving with a greater purpose.
Great distances. The distances weren’t the great
Part. I forget what the great part was, because
This was when I was a kid. When I was 12.

The things you did
As a kid
You store them in a secret kid-locker
In your heart
And your heart, it grows, along with the rest of
You, like a quarter pounded into the meat of
A young tree. The tree envelops the quarter,
Taking it in to itself, swallowing time
That you only try to clumsily relive
(Like I’m trying right now)

It used to be cold, icy, and snowy in Iowa.
I know this; I was out in it most of the time.
Does anyone sled anymore? Toboggan?
Round-saucer spinning uncontrollably at
About 12 mph? Metal sleds with runners
And power steering? Down crazy-steep
Barreling down frozen white hills, crashing
Into copses of thin pliable young trees.
You only see this kind of stuff on Youtube
In somebody’s ‘All-time Epic Fail List
The failure is epic, alright. We’ve moved on.
And not necessarily to a bigger, brighter future.

Ice! I skated on long-bladed racer skates.
I could stop on a dollar’s worth of
Dimes.

And this one time
I
Fell right on my knee hard enough to
Grind a hole in my jeans. It looked like a ******
Meteor crater. A pretty girl named Tina
Felt sorry for me and sat right next to me
She wore pink pom-poms and I fell in
Puppy with her for about three hours.
Then she smiled and hugged me and
I was more frozen than the ice outside
And she left, her Mom picking her up
And eying me balefully as I stood
Pink-faced and flushed and utterly
Confused about the randomness of
What had just happened to me.
Girls from my town all knew
More about myself than myself knew
About me. They had me PEGGED, brothers
And sisters. But not this girl. She was from
The next town over.
That was a good day, if I’m remembering
It correctly. If. I’m pretty sure I am.
Or, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t matter.

We played a game called ‘Blackman’
Like a tag game in Gym, where
One kid is “IT” and a mass of skaters
Goes from one end of the ice pond
To the other, and the people you capture
(I couldn’t catch an old man in front-wheel
Drive figure skates and I got so frustrated
I gave up to jeers and yells and found the
Trees were good listeners to kids
Who couldn’t skate as coordinated as
They wanted to.

So ten minutes later
I would go into the Warming House, and
Listen to am radio. All the Hits! KSTT! Davenport,
Iowa. On ******* Blvd., which was really
River Drive, because the Hostess Plant stood
Sentinel on top of the hill, pushing out
Sponge-cake filling and HoHos and Cupcakes
And those awful coconut snowballs, and
This one time, in high school, I shoved one
Inside my mouth and tried to swallow it
And about choked to death.

I walked to Mark Twain Elementary School
And ran home for lunch, and was usually
Late because I was easily distracted
And when the school day ended,
I walked or ran home, hurrying, because
Captain Ernie and Bugs Bunny Cartoons were on,
And then Gilligan’s Island from about 4:00 to
5:30, when the news would come on,
And then Dinner,
And I couldn’t stand to sit still
To save my life. I have ADD. I
Know this now. I didn’t know it
(Nobody knew what it was)
I knew something was wrong with me
Or not-right. It was just the way
The World Turned.

Back then. I had no sense of ‘self’.
I was a changeling. I tried to fit into
Whatever people expected of me, which
Was very often extremely difficult, because
These people I emulated and thought were
So **** cool were just as messed up
As I was, maybe more; But I
Didn’t have the emotional maturity
(Or I couldn’t face the awful responsibility
That went with that awful truth)
To deal with it, so under the rug it went.

I was moody and happy and singing
One moment and crying in the shower
The next.

This one time, I was stuck
In the borderlands of childhood
And the beginning of a man
It was safe, for awhile
This one time.

The daughter of the village Maire
Is very fresh and very fair,
A dazzling eyeful;
She throws upon me such a spell
That though my love I dare not tell,
My heart is sighful.
She has the cutest brown caniche,
The French for "poodle" on a leash,
While I have Bingo;
A dog of doubtful pedigree,
Part pug or pom or chow maybe,
But full of stingo.

The daughter of the village Maire
Would like to speak with me, I'll swear,
In her sweet lingo;
But parlez-vous I find a bore,
For I am British to the core,
And so is Bingo
Yet just to-day as we passed by,
Our two dogs haulted eye to eye,
In friendly poses;
Oh, how I hope to-morrow they
Will wag their tails in merry play,
And rub their noses.

* * * * * * *

The daughter of the village Maire
Today gave me a frigid stare,
My hopes are blighted.
I'll tell you how it came to pass . . .
Last evening in the Square, alas!
My sweet I sighted;
And as she sauntered with her pet,
Her dainty, her adored Frolette,
I cried: "By Jingo!"
Well, call it chance or call it fate,
I made a dash . . . Too late, too late!
Oh, naughty Bingo!

The daughter of the village Maire
That you'll forgive me, is my prayer
And also Bingo.
You should have shielded your caniche:
You saw my dog strain on his leash
And like a spring go.
They say that Love will find a way -
It definitely did, that day . . .
Oh, canine noodles!
Now it is only left to me
To wonder - will your offspring be
Poms, pugs or poodles?

flickering flurries
‘neath burnishing beams
of molten moonlight’s
own gleaming iced dreams

in glistening glimpses
on winter whipped walk
stung lips cite the script
yet besotted eyes talk

under chunky knit pom-poms
cheeks peach’ily pink
over lingering indigo
brassy stars wink

The Broom
A work out stick
Above the head
with a kick
Not pom poms
but even better
I dance with this
and make it much sweatEur ; )
Waist twists
firm swift shifts
shooBdoo with the techn9ne crew
fast stepping
twirling and bending
tap that tip to the floor
point it at the ceiling once more
sweep dirt? no way
personal cob webs go away
My broom is a tool
I twirl like a martial arts fool
Upper body exercise
with some attitude
a quickness
and now I smile

When I was in the darkest place
she showed up with a flashlight

And when I was so, so cold
she built a small fire

I know
if I were dangling from a tiny branch
poking out of a tall cliff
she would be there with rope
setting up nets underneath
I know this
because she did

Some days I am terribly sure
that not a soul gets me
There she is, though
with pom poms
(one that says *****,
the other vanilla)
cheering

The world
just doesn’t  know what compassion is
She defines it

And I love her
I owe her
And I got rope, a flashlight and some matches
so that one day
I can return the favor

And girl,
no number of wrinkles
could make you less beautiful

peach cobbler, that's what you remind of
the sweet, southern staple that everyone loves

but when the pom-poms fell from your hands
you told the girls in the van on the way to fun mountain
"I can't do those stunts anymore."

I still laugh at myself for my inappropriate and abrupt,  
"WHAT!?!?"
but your collected calmness collected me
until i saw in the back of your eyes the collected fear
and realized the daunting fact,
that even though you were nearly 9 months my younger
in 9 months
you were going to have to be years older than me

we were raised to plan
but planning doesn't determine how life occurs
cause you never really plan to fall down
i know there were those who showed you love
but i'm sure being named "pastor's daughter" and labeled "cliche"
didn't do you any favors in the judgement days
and i'm sorry i only made you a dress to hide the bump
when you deserved a cape
to soar over that injustice
that no one has the right to serve

what its like to inhabit a body that is growing beauty
i don't know, but watching you
i have seen it can be ... a change
which, i'm sure, that doesn't even remotely explain ... does it?
no it's ... a Life Alteration of Volcanic Proportions
cause I'm sure, at times, you feel as if standing in the wake of an explosion
and sometimes the earth spews fiery filth at you

but i believe mothers are fire proof
cause they know they have beauty that grew inside
and when you look at that doe eyed, preschooler son
remember that love strengthens you
heaven is powerful
and you are both beautiful

Gatt wishes he'd never been born,
Says his brain is the size of a prawn,
  You know the old spinner,
  But he ain't much thinner,
That ****** Aussie is Shame Warne.

He can bowl a big turning ripper,
Then fool you with his quick flipper,
  While he comments on sky,
  And eats one more steak pie,
Before you're done up like a kipper.

Even with the bat he's not bad,
Drives the opposition quite mad,
  He could captain them too,
  More than Ponting's IQ,
But he's gone and us Poms are just glad.

7 o'clock
a light summertime dream
just before dark
unfolding it's scheme

painted in sandals
clovered kissed toes
lovely green shamrocks
are standing in prose

a fierce looking cat
Amber eyes
silver fur
bunting her leg
and giving a purrrr

getting back home
nearly hour gone by
look to the tree
playing ball in the sky

it looks like the moon
nearly 3 quarter size
outlined in countries
is neatly disguised

it's actually a ball
playing with leaves
That thing called the moon
has some tricks up its sleeves

she saw it glide down
and bounce off of a cloud
tipping it's hat
and bowing to town

See you tomorrow
her group of new friends
this just the beginning
we're far from the end

No need for luck
with her beau in the sky
a 3 quartered boy
with love in his eyes

she bows to the moon
as her Gypsy skirt flows
silver cat walking
wherever she goes
shamrock tipped pom poms
will twinkle her toes

Another summer time walk
with his dearest of Maidens
her toes and her eyes
are moon dipped and ladden

Goodnight Moon.

Cherie Nolan© 2016

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
LogoSophia Magazine – A Pilgrim’s Journal of Life, Literature and Love
Fellowship & Fairydust (fellowshipandfairydust.com)
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

               Carpenters, Electricians, Plumbers, and Pom-Poms

And sometimes I hear
Professional craftsmen gossiping
Like cheerleader sponsors

I saw you today..
By accident..
Caught me off guard..
Wasen't expecting it..

You looked the same..
Head deep into your phone..
Unaware of what's going on around you..
Restored friendships...
With whom you hated...
All because I left you alone..
And all because you cant stand...
To be alone...

Cant say I'm surprised..
You were always high school..
All pom poms on game day..
All talk..
Loose lipped...
Knowing nothing of loyalty..
Starved for attention..
Mouth running constantly...
To whoever would listen..
Always kind of wide eyed..
And not really there...


Yea...
Nothings changed...
Your still the same...
What can I say though..
I have no regrets...
Walking away...
From a ****** up friendship..
You did me so *****...
Like we were in high school..
And if you hadn't noticed...
I graduated years ago..


The life you choose to live with you and your kids...
Just isn't okay with me anymore..
You hang out with 21 year olds...
Girl, your 30...
Your Regina George's mom..
Quit playin...
This **** isn't funny...


I hope you invest all your..
"Extra time" into your kids..
They need you...
I'll miss them..
Ill miss you..
I use to love you like a sis...
But I grew up...
I've outgrown your *******..
I've hung up my gown and tassel...
Its time for you to do the same..

Losing control of the brighter things
that sit and smirk at me as
the twilight immerses itself
in the faint glimmers of reality.
Hold that fractured frigid shock
to myself so tight
it breaks and shatters
vomiting sterilized pom poms
laced with chocolate sticky kisses.
Struck me, Lick me, Luck my
humble circumstances as they dance
on the roof of my mouth
chilly strange deadly
turns to muck in the shmuck
at the corner of my brain.
In one moment I’m there
the next, I’m insane.
Minutes switch by slowly as the
natural drugs kick in
enlightening my sense of well-ebbing stretches
into a glass of string.

.
This wee Scottish imp fell from the skies,
One mythic creature, telling only truths,
Fresh from a fabled land called Utopia—
Once gave a lecture to a room full of old,
Future splatterers of the status quo, dim
Poms and drones from a garrison called:
Oxford.  God save the dream!  Help us all . . .

have avoided all attempts
neatly gift-wrapped box
no innocent bystander
my own shapeless crinkling

paper bags or newspapers
crunched around clumsy mechanics
a garage built go-cart racer
tie with shoelaces

rubber bands and bread twisties
bike wheels in back
forward red wagon wheel
reconverted down side shafts

coiling and wrenching
back to cab meeting
half a broomstick handle bar
tasseled dangly pom-poms

painted on sheet metal hood
1014 signifying day we met
skidding each other's hearts
last year’s soap-box derby

not a pretty package
but when you open up and see
marvelous flaming paints
spinning our memories

I hope you know
you are my burning desire
Shall we blast it one last time?
I’ll make those vroom-vroom sounds

Who made the Orange,
for Uncle Sam.
The 60,000,000* litres,
they dropped on Vietnam?

It wasn't made, in the
United States!
So where, pray tell,
this mystery grates??

A clue for you, no
suspense, I'll keep,
It's a country, with as
many, litres* as sheep!

It's where they love to tell
you, that it is clean and
green, but it is far from that,
I know, I've been.

They were last, in the
world, to ban DDT.
They are xenophobic,
Pacific POMS, with a Zea.

               <>

No © Please Plagiarise
this poem, spread it like
slurry on the streets.

Kiwi's have just banned
foreigners from buying
property in New Zealand.

They have no rights there,
it is Maori land, Maoris are
treated like 2nd class citizens.

you're a galaxy personified
i know what i mean.
you're trying to make it all work
your mind is like a dream.

one of the dreams that turns
to nightmares,
because it makes you want to ignore
the fact that i can be here and there.

(i swear. i'll be good.
i say it a million times,
but i mean it --
it just gets lost in the rhymes).

i'll be standing on the sidelines,
pom poms in my hand
you're making me so proud
i could maybe do a handstand.

a window and door will open
and you'll walk inside,
just like your light, my love,
you'll be enveloped by the sunshine.

I told my Dean how
much I love to watch birds fly
so gently in sky

To my surprise he
knew names of lots of birds from
when he was a boy

So together we
now study birds and wow we
saw a cute partridge

It was in a field
A light tan colour of sweet
Pecking at the grass

Then I saw a big
peacock it's big tail half shut
Walking round corner

Dean pointed out a
mallard duck was resting in
an old fields puddle

My favourite is a
wagtail I saw two , There so
tiny and so cute

Then there's the magpies
O what elegant fine birds
they are..just like queens

And we saw a cute
robin , aww it was hiding
in a twiggy bush

Yesterday the sun
shined we went for a lovely
walk with our three dogs

Albie wore a coat
Was colour of grey sky with
fluffy cloud Pom-poms

Jessie and Harry walked
along too , Harry is quite
crazy though , barks lots

And always wants to
be the leader but our  
Jess is a diva

She's petitely cute
But her growl says it all , they
sure won't mess with her

Seagulls flying high
Crows and pigeons too , was a
nice day yesterday

We finished our day
off with a lovely dinner but
it was made of cow

So vegan is now
rising to top of mountain
But taking its time :)

I really love square
window in Chalet Tis so
small with morning light

I best get up now
Ready for a new fresh day
Filled with cartoon fun :-)

Whatever happens from this moment forward
I promise I’ll always be your friend
That’s a lesson I’ve had to learn-
That I can never abandon the ones who matter
And from now on
You will always matter to me
We namaste together
And we take names together
So I can promise you with my heart
Nothing breaks this matching set.
I hold your pom-poms during the cartwheels
You hold my earrings during the bar fights
And from this moment forward
We’ll always have each other to hold.

When I headbang- and we do headbang
since as far back as we remember-
my hair, shaking like clumps of phantom pom-poms,
has its fun, evading a spotty survivor's guilt,
making good use of training and conditioning
under diverse climates. But it still chafes
against a comb, which is understandable.
I don't relish being grabbed by my throat
although I have been, but very safely,
in the good humor of a modest Tropicana-