Thursday, June 23, 2016

Wanda Morrow Clevenger- Two Poems


the eunuchs
 
I don’t lose sleep anymore
at how
minding manners doesn’t
necessarily sanction
parity
 
at the cyber circus
freaks––their phony finger
poised to vanquish
ruck;
at how heads roll
off puberty’s pathological
kleft jaw
 
or at how cleanly
she photoshopped rancor
plagiarized
in Mae West
pseudo babble
kissed on the gaped
maw
her stymied eunuchs
 

 
Gascozark Hills Resort
 
There is a clarity in the black and white
postcard from Gascozark Hills Resort
on Highway 66
 
week guests in cotton dresses and
white shirts served family style
Great Aunt Anna and Mom in waitress
uniform, hand clawing glassware,
Mom’s sweeping waved hair
Anna's young face I never saw in
real time; Uncle Ronnie still a boy
standing in back
 
those uniforms were awful hot
Mom wrote on the postcard back
to her boyfriend
 
I had to guess at color: spring sky
blue set off by starched white collars
sleeve cuffs
aprons
overlarge buttons
 
the postcard was mailed to my father
long spring skies before me;
the uniforms are long gone now
Anna, Ronnie, my dad
the week guests mostly gone too.
 
 
 
Wanda Morrow Clevenger, author of This Same Small Town in Each of Us
 
 

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