Current mood:	tired and bug-bitten
Current music:	Hey Jude - The Beatles

What I did at work today
When You Lose Weight

When you lose weight, where
does it go? Goodness knows it’d
be a crime to waste it. Maybe it’s
wrapped up in neat little packages
and sent off to the starving children
in Africa. The lucky ones receive
boxes from thin white volunteers
braving the AIDS and insects
seeking to fill the void by
helping people. And so
the little children open
the boxes and thirstily
slather themselves in
the fat that we take so
for granted. The rich
blubber helps to flesh
out their twiggy arms,
fill in their cheeks and to
smoothe the sharp edges in
their shoulders and elbows.
All the carrots and beets, the
Brussels sprouts and corn that
all the mothers scolded all their
children for not eating doesn’t,
in fact, help the poor little kids
in Africa. It’s the Doritos, the
Domino’s, the Large Fries,
the Diet Coke you have so
often for your meals, the
trip to the snack machine
for a treat that turns into
a daily habit that stores
up the precious weight
ready to be sent to the
poor starving children
needing it so in Africa.




A Poem on Paper

There’s something magical
About words on a page.

A poem on the Internet
Is still the same -
It has the same words and
Yet it’s like boiled vegetables
That lose their fresh flavor.


*

My Little Boy Should Be a Poem

I dropped him off at school
In the morning, holding
His little hand tight in mine
As we crunched through
The thick carpet of leaves the
Ground had been collecting.

He pulled out of my grasp and
Skipped ahead
Eyes blazing maroon
And gold and orange
He turned at the door to wave
Goodbye
And I did, blowing him a kiss
Light as a falling leaf.
I was halfway back down the
Sidewalk-

Mommy!

I turned to see him staring
Eyes wide as the sky
Soaking in the world,

Mommy! Look!

He bends down and catches
Up a leaf in his hand
Cradling its brilliant color
In his palms.

Mommy, it’s beautiful.
His red-gold hair catches the
Sun and flickers like the leaves
Around us caught in the morning
Breeze.

It’s beautiful.


*

Deflatable Breasts

I think if you stuck a
Pin in my chest all the
Air would slowly fizzle out
Like a disappointed sigh.

No one told me that if you
Lose weight, it means your
Breasts lose weight too. They
slowly grow smaller, like
reverse puberty,
Like my grandmother with
Osteoperosis who passed me on
Her way down in height.

What if they keep shrinking and
Shrinking until they disappear
Into my chest altogether?
Am I no better off than a twelve-
Year-old girl, a boy even,
No longer worth a second look
On the street, no longer able to
Wear deliciously cut shirts
Displaying my assets? Fat men
Have more cleavage than I do.

I think it’s worse to have it
And lose it - you know what
You’ve lost and can’t regain.

My chest feels very heavy
And yet sadly light. My shirts bags in
The front, but I can lie on my stomach
And not feel any obstruction or discomfort.

Maybe I’d be better off ten pounds heavier,
If it would give me back my femininity.


*

The evening sun pools
Mustard-yellow. My father’s
Voice carries from inside, over
His favorite piano music
Bach in Concerto #2834 in H flat
Or something like that
I bet Bach’s parents didn’t yell
At him for his existence.

My cat smoothes her silky self
Against my skins, pushing hard.
She reaches up, all elastic and fur
And peeks to see if my lap is free,
Which it is. I’m not, though.

If I had enough money I would
Build a castle just for my cat and me
And it would have the hugest moat
You’ve ever seen. I’d be known far
And wide as the notorious parent-
Abandoner- but it should be the
Other way around.

Just because they’re here
Doesn’t mean they’re here.


*


My daughter’s hair frames
Her face like blonde corn
Silk.

Look, Mommy, look!
Her dimples flash like
Twin stars.

She points to a large pile of
Sand and I smooth her hair.

Look!
She pulls at my hand,
She whose cells are
Made from mine
Pure organic matter
Of me but not me nor mine.

She points proudly at the
Pile. The shape of a mermaid’s tail and
Body are roughly patted, the
Handprints still visible.

She stands proudly by her
Creation.

As do I.




____

All poems have not been edited at all and are very (and hopefully) subject to change.