A moment of joy captured through a bus window.
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To the boys! Tie me to your torso Let the sun sculpt every muscle, But life is meant for living. |
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Tag: body image
Poster girl
This one was inspired by the constant battery of perfume advertisements that seems to accompany the winter holiday season. The images of women who look like they have been lobotomized or seriously drugged as they float through wispy clouds and satin drapery. Ooo, la la.
Living with hunger
She’s learned to live with hunger
and shoes that cause her pain.
“She’s every man’s desire.”
Oh, not that crap again!
You can see her on the TV
and in posters on the street,
but she doesn’t look like
any living woman you might meet.
Now she whispers to the camera.
She’s only wearing gauze.
Your eyes are glazing over, darling.
Here’s a cloth to wipe your jaw.
It’s just an advertisement.
She’s a phantom, my dear man!
Come serve the goddess in your household.
That is… if you still can.
Maintenance
This one came to me one morning as I was flat on my back doing my just-out-of-the-shower daily stretch routine. So it started before I even made it to the sidewalk!
Maintenance
Right knee to breast, feel the strain.
Now, the left. The pain, again.
Right leg up, to point and flex.
Once, a dancer. Now, an ex- .
Lift both legs and circle feet,
first outside, and then in.
Clench your buttocks fifty times,
then do it all again.
Work against the gravity.
Envision strength and grace.
Not Hercules, but Sisyphus,
knows the task I face!
Man with the doves
This poem has taken a while to develop. Like the other sidewalk poems, the first line was prompted by a real moment on the street. A contrast that registered.
In building the poem, I realized that I wanted to transmit the images with impartiality, the citywalker as photojournalist.
The man with the doves
The man with the doves
is asking for coins.
The man in the poster
– naked chest, naked loins –
announces a lotion
¡cash-back, guarranteed!
to smoothe your abdomen
at night while you sleep.
The doves peck at nothing,
they dance and they coo
around the old man
who does not look at you.
His hat sits before him,
a basket of hope –
originally white,
now the far side of taupe.
I live with both men,
our relationship bound
by the shared stretch of sidewalk,
profane and profound.
Poolside Laureate 