Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Responseing, pg. 2411

It should be in a medical dictionary,
and probably is, because by chance so many women
says the translucent page, bunches of gray dust clinging to the neglected corners
so many women don't find compliments sincere.
There are not a lot of poets.
Poetry is subterfuge or complete sincerity
and subterfuge only by the folksy snakes.
They say, in a well-thumbed thick paper cookbook about dinner parties
that compliments are gifts,
like snowflakes, melting under close inspection.
I hope my gift was well-recieved, and you weren't staring at your glove
with the intensity of the premed with thick glasses and scruff,
inhaling, exhaling, the dust is dancing.
He blows it off because it irks him,
and
"Say you had a friend named Lily.  When she arrives, tell her you enjoy her green dress."
The cook ripped out the next, appropriate Lily effemerate response with teeth, and like a gift of her own
she now values her dress quite solidly. 


-Citron

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