SHOCKOE READER

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Copyright 2005

Shann Palmer 

The Edward Gorey Girl

looks back from the mirror, morose
dark-eyes within dark circles.
She didn't remove her make-up
after last nights late-night fight.
Home a tad drunk and foolish,
she'd not planned on sleeping
solo or so terribly late.

"G is for Greta in gruesome disgrace."
Worse for where she'd been,
what she'd said was probably
not the best of all possible words.
If she could only remember the gist
no- wait- she remembers that
and the cant- that's why she is alone.

The phone rings. She lets it.
White lather makes the black
disappear. The phone rings again,
insistent this time- she's tempted
to pick up, begin the hopeless campaign-
1) I didn't mean it, 2) You bastard, 3) Please?
4) I can't live without you, 5) Fuck you then.

What a difference a face makes
and twenty-four little hours.
His stuff fills two garbage cans
and a mall outlet shopping bag.
She starts a new diet, does some yoga.
Makes a list of her better traits,
dyes her hair strawberry blonde.

What I Want

I want last Tuesday back, and Wednesday, too,
they started out great, but drizzled off the gutters
all day and didn't make much of themselves.

I want someone to come in every now and then
and scrub the toilet, the tub, and the kitchen floor, 
the mundane that locks me in a state of sinful omission.

and I want flowers for my birthday- yellow roses-
or some wild hair random day just because, and
not some cheap&quick warehouse bulk bunch, either.

I want one day off a week to be home all by myself
with no outstanding, expectations, deadlines or obligations
thrown at me like parade paper confetti all over the rug.

It's not delicate neuro-surgery or baby seal eco-radicalism-
just a little up close current desire for pedicure perfection
at the local level that could rock my world into your arms, sugar.

Speaking English

I stumble on my mother-tongue
and at once regret
having only one
language
to intrigue you.

I proffer Besame' Mucho,
L'Chaim, C'Est Si Bon
but Dites Moi
why I stand
stupified by your oral facility.

We must make love 
or dance 
in universal terms
to reach accord
in music we each understand.

Six motions

On emotional disconnect

Looking good is better than feeling good
What people think is what matters
One day at a time, sweet Jesus,
will not make you rich or famous.

People should have a five-year plan,
or at least have the savvy to say so.
There are two sides to every story only
until the conclusion, then the winner counts.

When you forgot my birthday this year
I decided to forget I once loved you.


On emotional gratification

Thank you, that was very nice.
You may leave now. Don't call.


On emotional leave

One spoon
Two pints of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream


On emotional holiday

I love you forever and I always will
There is nothing that can come between us
We are inseparable, even time is our friend.
Let's quit our jobs and live together in Sri Lanka.


On emotional tenterhooks

I should check to see
if someone left a message
while I ran to the store
he could have called
I'm expecting to hear
any minute now.


On emotional devastation

Even God can't see me.

 

Coupling Joint

Complacent and dispossessed
she stands alone, like cheese
before the rat takes her again
against her will inside the ‘don’t’
a scowl implies. She has to

given her singular status
and angled glance, he 
presupposes her consent,
dives into her muzzled jaw
and drowns the both of them.

It should have been a kiss
not this, head banging clatter
under-cut of brief awe- 
choose is not the analog
of contact, sport, assimilate!

Dance like you’ve never had to
hold your purse close, all night
in patent leather red boogie shoes
avoid the implacable stranger 
who goes home with the help.

 
more Shann

© Shann Palmer, 2003 

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