This one was published by Three Line Poetry in February. Short and sweet, each line is less than 40 characters. Enjoy. It is about my first earthquake in Alaska.
This poem was published by Eskimo Pie in February. Yes, a Duran Duran reference!
The Reflex
The lead guitarist’s butterfly collar
framed the half opened polyester shirt
exposing the sable chest hair that
matched his fuzzy head.
Shiny silver dress slit high
up the lead singer’s
thigh as she begins
her scorching rendition
of Gloria Gaynor.
I will survive
Oh, as long as I know …
It reminds of my mother’s obsession with
All oldies – all of the time
Songs that tormented my youth
with a quick rotation of the radio dial.
Love, love me do…
The lyrics of one Beatles song or another—
nothing but a good oldie would do for my mother.
As I sat watching the misfit 70’s band
leave the stage at the dive bar of my college existence
where I often drank after creative writing workshops—
sometimes more than others, sometimes harder than others—
the thoughts of the funky polyester pants dissipate
and memories of my mother’s radio fade
giving way to another time when I was young,
and Duran Duran’s “The Reflex”
made everything seem so much easier.
Explicit post: Warning! Possible trigger.
This poem was published by Eskimo Pie in February. Check out the poem and Eskimo Pie too!
The Drop Off
Maidenhood aside,
your sex trapped me.
My fresh curls could not
compete with you aged mounds
of flesh I did not desire.
The fruity bubble gum should
have told me all:
the sickly melon perfumed
my car, ate at my stomach,
eroding my alliance,
down to a sugary decay of
falsehood and cunning.
Thinking nothing of sticky fly traps,
I shared my soda and
youthful dimples.
Instead of cookies, you offered love
and, of course, your sex
as the sugar started to saturate,
entrapping me.
The friend you left behind —
not the one that offered you a ride,
the one you had in me–
dashed off her fears and turned the key.
Sweetly, I spurned your desires,
but with all the sugar everything
turned sour.
I dropped off your unfulfilled
desires at your doorstop.
You will come to me again,
but I will not be there.
I’ve thrown away all of my candy.
A poem published in Cirque this summer. Enjoy and check them out!
Femininity
With my femininity under my arm,
we hustled down the dusty
shell of a broken college town,
past the crooked props
that used to sell feed
and pens to students, where
I offered my femininity to my fiancé.
He refused it.
Passersby frowned and jeered:
The wrinkled grape thought it was
best suited for a child;
Her charge thought that I was just too old.
A fluffy pink, the doll’s dress was
–with pink bows, of course.
Blonde with pigtails, the hair was
–with tight curls, of course.
Shattered sidewalks failed
to absorb the shame,
as my femininity receded
into my ragged college jacket along
with my spent youth
and thrift store receipt,
only to allow patches of its plastic
head and feet to emerge
when I least wanted it.
J.L. Smith 