Rosey

 I'm not much for babies.

Oh, I dispense a few sweet noises on demand

like a reluctant gumball machine,

but as often as not, the nickel gets jammed and there I am,

stifling a yawn.

My own child was different of course, but he's grown and gone.

I look around, and it feels like my heart is bunged,

So today I'm on the sidewalk in front of a pet supply store,

navigating the cages, looking.

I'm drawn 

to the shy ones,

the small ones,

the hurt ones,

the lonely ones. 

C'mere baby, come to mama,

Come on-a my house, my house-a come on.

I will make you bold.

I will make you safe.

I will make you well.

I will make you loved. 

It's mother-magic, presto! and we'll make a ton of it

out of thin air.

_______

Oracle

 I was raised on the page of a magazine,

a pencil rammed down my spine that I might

keep better time.

My mother said, here, marry this potato,

this barbell,

this party hat,

this disease.

In the night they came to me

on the night trapeze.

I collected hallucinations--Laika in a capsule made of experts.

That winter, my husbands built priests in the garage,

confessed to plates of spaghetti

and drove down mine shafts to golf club coffins.

Now, I begin with new bones,

eyes placed on coins like hor d'ouevres 

for the Oracle who breathes deep

and tells my future

even knowing that no one will believe her.

X Factor

Don't fret, little one,
over what doctors or devils say.

They don't know how strong my angels rise
at sight of your 
careless
smile.
_____

for Play It Again Toads #13. I did a Twitter poem (140 characters.) 

The image was found on weheartit.com

My puppy has some internal problems. Mommy's gonna make it right.

 

 

Lies I Tell Myself

Born to make up stories,
here's one I told myself
last night
so as not to cry,
because
crying upsets my new puppy.

I told myself whoppers
just as if I were a country rube;
stuff about wooden porches,
citronella torches,
and a '64 Pontiac painted custom blue.

I'm old
and will just get more so;
any warm body I'm likely to touch,
lay down with me a good long while ago.
But Goddess bless lies,
cos Jesus loves a little yarn.

So I told myself
--on a particularly lonely night--
--so as to spare puppy any perplexity--
that it was sweet July
and a baby blue beauty had just come for me up the gravel way.

I was about to say
that the driver, with her arm stretched lazy across the wheel,
was Emmylou;

but no.
I made it better.
She was you.
_______

For Corey at Real Toads. He said to write about your first car, but mine was just a nondescript hand-me-down on its last legs, so I have written about something else, but still a car. I don't think Corey will take away my lily pad for this small infraction, will he?