Hers's an oldie (but hopefully goodie) from my college days. Circa 1984.
MIDGE
Every man’s dream, the flaming red head-
mop top with clothespin body
And long, sharp banana nose.
You bop along the windy cities,
Ride your unicycle down nature trails,
Scoff at candlelit dinners.
Jellybean in your lunch bucket,
What a girl, you turn me on,
And whatever made you wait this long
To string out your absurdities
For all the world to gape and see.
Cold, flapping fish dancing in your tennis shoe,
An “I Hate Fresh Men” placard
Pasted with Krazy Glue to the front door of your ivy bound cottage.
A vegetarian stew gurgles on your stove
And your love beads shine and fascinate
As they twinkle close to the freckles of your long, thin neck.
It’s nights like these I start to sit and wonder
About laying my boots beneath your cat’s warm soft form on the floor.
If you didn’t hate men so much, why,
I’d climb beside you in the sleeping bag
And try to turn you on like a Jimi Hendrix groove never could.
-Bruce Potts
Copyright 1984
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Well I never had a moment like that, but enjoyed yours.
ReplyDeleteDave
Actually, Dave, I never had a moment like that either. Midge is obviously the figment of an overactive imaginiation, just like the green woman with purple breasts in "Idiosyncrasies" elsewhere on this blog. I did a lot more "character" poems in those days. If I get brave enough to battle the politically correct beast, I may get the nerve to post "Helga the Horrible Hooker"! Thanks for reading!
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