The Regretful Academic: Poetry Exercise #3

I sit across from you in the dining room

You’ve given us so much,

 

Lighting the lovely lines lying

across your own face,

 

I whine for nor want no weak role in it.

I am ultimately unfulfilled.

 

 

I married you because it was normal.

My mother married you,

 

Her mother married you,

Her mother’s mother married you,

 

And so on.

 

How else am I to scrape out a living in this world?

Office occupancy?

 

Collegiate worth?

Naught.

 

Powerless, yet not sexless

God save me, my children, and our souls.

 

 

A Bunnie is Beautiful – Poetry Exercise #2

Their pink Bunny ears, placed neatly over my head.

Their Electric Blue miniskirt, so tight that I can’t bend over.

 

A soggy, wrinkled five dollar bill extended from the patron’s arm.

The pack of cigarettes he wants me to buy for and bring to him.

 

The journal I’m reporting all of this for,

The college degree sitting atop my cupboard door.

 

All these poor, young things

That one over there, no more than eighteen years old

 

She sat by her uncle’s home phone for twelve hours a few weeks back

Waiting for the call that would let her into this dark, damp place

 

And I’m supposed to write about her? How?

Is she not happy? “A bunny –

 

Like a Playboy playmate – is beautiful, desirable. We’ll do

Everything in our power to make you – the Bunny – the most envied girl

 

In America, with the most exciting career.

How can I save this poor, pitiable soul?

 

 

 

 

 

No Half Measures: Poetry Exercise #1

Two people face eachother,

Coffee table serves

As a border or highway divider between the two.

 

One’s face is extraordinarily bland – confused, sacred, intent

A mix of all the above. The dim light highlights her

Features as she listens so intently on the other’s monologue.

 

The speaker leans forward, talking intently, explaining

How things are the way they are,

You can’t change them.

 

You won’t change them.

Listen to me.

Things’ll go better – easier – this way.

 

While her face remains focus, a sense of confusion – fear, even –

Runs across her face.

Can things possibly be so simple as he describes?

 

He gets up from his chair – dead fish eyes stuck into his face.

Serious. She stares at him with a sense of awe and panic.

Maybe there’s something to be heard from all this.

 

He leaves the room.