What she was wearing

[y66]

What She Was Wearing

 

by Denver Butson

 

this is my suicide dress

she told him

I only wear it on days

when I'm afraid

I might kill myself

if I don't wear it

 

you've been wearing it

every day since we met

he said

 

and these are my arson gloves

 

so you don't set fire to something?

he asked

 

exactly

 

and this is my terrorism lipstick

my assault and battery eyeliner

my armed robbery boots

 

I'd like to undress you he said

but would that make me an accomplice?

 

and today she said I'm wearing

my infidelity underwear

so don't get any ideas

 

and she put on her nervous breakdown hat

and walked out the door

 

from Illegible Address. © Luquer Street Press, 2004. Reprinted with permission at http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/

[kfay]

Now this one I like. Very funny :)

[y66]

Yeah, I don't think you're the only one who scratches their head at these. The next time I buy some socks I'll ask for a color that helps rein in people who post poems, maybe something in purple. :)

[y66]

Bridal Shower

 

by George Bilgere

 

Perhaps, in a distant café,

four or five people are talking

with the four or five people

who are chatting on their cell phones this morning

in my favorite café.

 

And perhaps someone there,

someone like me, is watching them as they frown,

or smile, or shrug

at their invisible friends or lovers,

jabbing the air for emphasis.

 

And, like me, he misses the old days,

when talking to yourself

meant you were crazy,

back when being crazy was a big deal,

not just an acronym

or something you could take a pill for.

 

I liked it

when people who were talking to themselves

might actually have been talking to God

or an angel.

You respected people like that.

 

You didn't want to kill them,

as I want to kill the woman at the next table

with the little blue light on her ear

who has been telling the emptiness in front of her

about her daughter's bridal shower

in astonishing detail

for the past thirty minutes.

 

O person like me,

phoneless in your distant café,

I wish we could meet to discuss this,

and perhaps you would help me

murder this woman on her cell phone,

 

after which we could have a cup of coffee,

maybe a bagel, and talk to each other,

face to face.

 

"Bridal Shower" by George Bilgere. Reprinted with permission at http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/