1991 • page 2

Home Poetry 1991 • page 2

May 22

When it is really hot out
your cream is warm
as you rub it on your face.

The mosquitos come out,
and you might want to put
an insecticide vaporizer
in the electric outlet
at the back corner of your room.

 

May 22

Why I want to see him
is for one more kiss
gentle and soft soft soft
and to ask him one million questions.

I wait for a phone call, helpless.
I know he won’t call
if there’s a soccer game on television,
but there’s not one tonight.
That, I know.
That’s all I know.

May 26

“What are you?” he asked.
“German, French, English, Polish?”
“American,” I said.
“No,” he said, “your roots
What are your roots?”
“Scottish, Irish, English, French,” I said as fast.

And turning away,
(I didn’t like his self-centered attention),
Hannah, the blond girl from Liverpool,
told me I looked Scottish.
“Yes,” she said. “I saw you before
and I thought you looked very Scottish.”

Just after, huddled cold
in the car on the way home,
I hugged myself and smiled
thinking, I’m Scottish.
I have roots, and I look Scottish,
the best of all four nationalities.

I look like a people.
If I were to go,
I would blend right in.

May 27

I am at this point,
a jealous point,
an insecure point
where other’s happiness
brings me sadness.

I read of Karen and Kendrick
in love and adventuring to Guatemala
Kate James, a sculptor’s apprentice
in Italy
and oh, the pain
the forced gladness for them.
I could have cried.

June 2        Pick me up

The train arrives at eight oh four.
If you get to the train station
at eight
you’ll have to wait four minutes.
If you get to the train station
at eight oh one
you’ll have to wait
three minutes.
If you get to the train station
at eight oh two
you’ll have to wait two minutes.
But if you get to the train station
at eight oh three
you’ll only have one minute
to wait.