Posted Monday, December 18th, 2006
Her Wifey Magazines
She can’t help loving them.
At the checkout stand, she wants
to own the hand that spreads blue
icing, arranges teddy graham swimmers
on their rafts of striped gum. She’s spellbound
by one drowning bear, bobbing
next to a cherry Lifesaver, the expert
piping of his red O-mouth. One rack over,
there’s tranquility in blue moons of Jell-O
arranged on glimmering depression glass.
She has dreams of standing in line
at the supermarket, her newly decluttered purse
tucked under her arm, her shiny cart a display
case, featuring each of the 52 ways
to save on a food budget. She’s wearing
the right outfit for her shape, straight-legged pants
to trick the eyes into believing her ass is only
slightly curved, and she looks amazing, except
her makeup is straight from the Don't list.
There’s a rattle from her egg carton, a hiss
and crackle just before the lid pops open,
and a dozen black tadpoles swirl
inside their clean cups. She wakes
to an ocean of glossy ink rushing her lungs.
Folding back the corners
of plain white sheets, she rises and vows
that today, she’ll figure it all out, she’ll learn
to make translucent gelatin moons,
align them just so on antique platters.
She swears that this time, she won’t
eat them before the kids return from school.
She won’t hold them in her open palm,
little jiggling crescents, won’t
swallow them whole, curved bodies
lumping down her throat, so blue and cool,
so impossibly sweet.
Comments [post a comment]
Posted by jocelyn johnson on Monday, December 18th, 2006 at 3:17 PM
I really like the ending image.
Posted by Jay Wilson [ firstname.lastname@example.org
] on Monday, December 18th, 2006 at 4:19 PM
I'd like some Teddy G. swimmers! YUM!