Thursday, November 5, 2015

Kelley White- Three Poems

My mother says she doesn’t hate dogs,
just dog owners.
Donny walked up to us at the parade
with two little dogs strapped in a baby
carrier to his chest: wants to destroy
us with cuteness. He introduces them:
on his right, Elsa Schiaparelli, then
Giorgio Armani’s on the left. Coy
pup CoCo Chanel’s the little lady
with the pink bow taped to a little braid
on the top of her head in the stroller,
yap yap yapping little pink tongue lapping
my hands, can I get some soap please? I like
dogs but I hope these wear diapers. I might
like to wash my hands; give me a  napkin,
please, protect me from the Yorkshire terror.
The lack of an identifiable voice in White’s poems
might be considered a liability, though one is eventually
grateful that she does not stay with any of the annoying
personas she has foisted on her occasional readers, that is,
the members of her monthly poetry workshop. Once loyal
readers, in particular family members, are tired of her oft
strident and self-congratulatory word-play: “I hate the voice
she uses for Barbie” one young White relative was heard
to say, “and she never gets anything close to iambic
pentameter, she had absolutely two left feet when she tried
to get us to dance.” Though grateful to have relatively
rarely been topics of her writing, friends say they are sick
and tired of the hints at sexuality which sometimes push
into the foreground of her work. “And don’t even think about
punctuation,” cried: one of the co-workers, who, originally
pleased by her free copy promptly dumped it in the used
‘book’ bin--at the local Good Will.
here is the poster
the other girl drew
before he knew you
it’s ugly even your
mother agrees it’s
obscene and wrong
yes, wrong, the crossed
out eyes, the mermaid
tail, the bunny ears
pink, no he wouldn’t
want a girl like that
to represent his art
now would he?

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