Monday, April 05, 2010

Nearly Over

(Strange Tales #11)

I thought I overheard the grayed old transvestite
At the midnight motor-psycho party say,
“I didn’t impress the girls or boys in the playground
Very much when I was young and nimble;
How could I expect much difference now?
If they only see now what I can see
In the mirror or out the window—
How little of me there is, every day, inside or out—
How I’ve grown soft and weepy and ugly. Pathetic!
I’ll lengthen my skirts and carry poison pens in my purse,
If that’s what it takes, though I worry it won’t be enough.
There’s no other way to deal with it, n’est-ce pas?
I’m afraid everything I think or wish would be nearly over.
It would not take a sharp appraiser’s eye very long,
Now would it, to pass such bargains by?”


Current draft: 3/29/2010
Created on 3/3/2010 2:59 PM

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Abandon hope, all ye who enter here! (At least put on your socks and pants.)