October 19, 2008


Janis went into hiding
Her hair cut in a bob,
She wore pumps.
and cleaned up—good.

Janis went down
to the basement laundry.
She married a salesman,
who didn’t feel the way she felt.
It didn’t matter—much.

Janis hid behind a baby-belly.
She smoked in secret
and screamed
at her cry-baby-kids
a running-on-the-lawn.

Janis lived in hiding.
She went to cocktail parties.
Her manicure looked natural.
Her perfume spiced the air.
She baked a clam dip.
She worried about her weight.

Channeling Janis.
No one sees my drunken bounce
off the walls of her psyche.
They don’t hear her moan
into the needle at the edge of identity.

I’m a mother, a housewife.
I’m Janis.

Laundry—dive into the sheets of night.
Dust—cough into a tragic cigarette.
Breakfast—drowse in the shattered invisible—
detach and linger—in the rafters.

Did I make you feel?

1 comment:

stormy day said...

the rains have begun. bedside, the cats. the ashtray. the half black half white cup of coffee tasting of revolution. the bounce of water weight on the tin roof echoes the tap tapping of eager fingers spelling thank you.