Single by design or divorce, we gather to dine on our destinies:
Red-head, blond, brunette belligerence biting on crisp chef salads.
A mish-mash of ideas fork-lifted to tightly curled tongues. Bitter oils race
into their own rancidness. Turban, bandana,
and a pert scarf all knotting on swelling bravado at being courageous
enough to have shaved our legs, colored our faces, crayoned over
shattered places of our best lost losses.
She says:
His new girlie girl can’t hold a candle’s watt
to my heated hatred
She says:
Yeah, she’ll melt his “Glue-too” tie-dye hair implants
and black will streak like badly written goodbyes
on rained-on love notes
She says:
How different can she be
except their music won’t match?
We wrestle with wilted lettuce beneath our bridges,
snap celery with sharp canines, wave carrot sticks like wands
while we smile like multi-colored cats over cold coffee,
wet tissues fall like dropped blossoms.
She says:
I had his best, she can have his rest.
She says:
He’ll grow older, she stay younger.
I say:
Depends!
We hover, hysterically over a halting thought,
sip soothing latte with tight lips where orange crawls
like a map route, to our newly crafted noses.
In a list
A contest entry
- Free Verse Options (Be very good...NO RHYME) by FindingFate.
300 points, ended February 24, 2007, 4 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Love it! Gorgeous.
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Oh yeah..The coffee pours and the mouths start going.This was so on target on how we women can dish it out. An enjoyable piece my sister...Cant wait for our own Coffee Clutter.
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Wonderful work; with just the right amount of dish, and dirt. Loved this, felt like I was there munching on salad, and more deliciously..gossip. Excellent!
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