A Woman of Substance

This one all the adolescents, and their fathers,
Want to bed was mine. She isn't anymore.
Death-camp chic revolted me. Should they
See her naked, they would run, as I have
Run to you. Daddy's money couldn't make
Her deaf to Mommy's hateful words. She
Shuttles in and out of clinics, pokes at plates
And plays at being elegant. She's called you
Fat. You shouldn't care what she has said,
A scarecrow mocking someone living. She,
Whose life is endless sorrow, lashes out at
Those who she believes still can encounter joy.
You're the one, so plush and pleasant, I have
Said I want with me. Let the adolescents dream.
Let their fathers. Let her go on starving.
I know who I need.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 18 times
Written on 2011-10-21 at 12:49

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