Posts Tagged ‘poetry’

Because I’m A Middle Age White Lady

Last week I competed in a Poetry Slam and out of 15 poets I came in 15th! Dead last! But we had a great time, Sandor decided he likes Slam Poetry at 15 and some folks have contacted me cause they actually liked my poems.
So here you go…

Middle Age White Lady

When my sons are pulled over by the police, late at night, I’ve never been worried
Because I am a middle age white lady … and they are my blue eyed sons.

When I wander aimlessly through the Dollar Store
Suspicious cashiers never follow me
Never wait for me to shove a bag of Funyuns in my pants.
They don’t study my enormous purse as I check out,
Because I am a Middle Age White lady.

My children go to a wonderful redneck public school with soooo much money.
My kids get all kinds of lavish opportunities from their school district
They March on a million dollar AstroTurf football field

Because they are the children of a middle age white lady.

Because I have several bank accounts and credit cards,
a responsible amount of debt
I pay thousands of dollars less for my cars. Thousands!
Because I am a middle age white lady.

300 years ago, when my ancestors came to America
They were searching for freedom and opportunity… Fortune and adventure

It’s easier to be me, much easier, I guess. Because white privlidge does exist.
And those who say it’s not a real thing are morons and in denial.
My family is safer, we have glorious opportunities ….. because I am.
Just because I am.

And here’s the second poem…It’s a true story. I didn’t get to read it at the Poetry Slam because even a 10 year old girl in a unicorn shirt got a better score than I did.  But I think that was just the “cute vote.”

This one is called

Bad First Wife

In front of a food truck on Park Avenue you slap my husband on the back.
“Good to see you Buddy”

Hold up a minute! 30 years ago you slept with my husbands first wife.
In his house….in his bed…and now you two are back slapping buddies?.
Instead of backstabbing acquaintances?

He’s supposed to forget all about what you did to him ….or her…in their bed.
He burned that mattress you know…that’s how pissed he was.

What happened to the cold cone of silence?
Listen, Because you slept with his first wife they got a divorce 29 years ago!

Damn it. You’ve aged well and you’ve still got that ruggedly handsome thing going on.
And you’re actually kind of charming.

But you’re the reason they got divorced.
And then I met him.

Well…we’ve had a pretty good run for almost 25 years.
The mortgage on the house is paid off.
Four spectacular kids… full college scholarships.
We just got a glorious new bathtub installed …it’s pretty fantastic.
And after all these years of marriage we still actually like each other…we have fun.

30 years of silence…30 years…that’s a really long time.

And this is a very small town.

I nudge my husband with my elbow, in front of the food truck on Park Avenue.
And he says…“I’m doing all right. It’s good to see you, man.”

My Dead Dog

I can write but I’ve never written poetry. But I think these might be fifty percent brilliant.


My Dead Dog

Our little dog was hit by a car and died on the highway.

He was tiny and honey colored with the head of a Labrador

and the body of a dachshund.

The dog was enthusiastic to the extreme, a sweet crack head

but chased cars on the highway so we knew.

We understood a car would kill the dog.

I couldn’t find a shovel so I dug his grave with a pick and hoe.

It was hard.

Sweating, I tried to lift his stiff, furry body.

thirty awkward  pounds.

He was heavier than I expected and too big for my hole.

I tried to cover him with the black soil,

but his tiny golden paw poked through the dirt.


When I told my son the dog was dead he smiled

Thinking it was a joke.


He wanted to look at the grave, so we did.

Then he stopped smiling. An hour later he rolled off the couch in pain,

limp with heart ache.


His heart will heal,

but the dog will not come home.

He’s buried by the creek in a grave too small to hold him.



In the Wal-Mart parking lot, we had a moment.

You parked next to me, in your cloud colored Lexus and smiled.

I smiled back then turned my head, hoping my hair would fall in front of my face

in a good way.

Not the disheveled, frumpy way.


When I looked again you were still smiling at me, while talking  to your phone.

And you were middle aged handsome,

gray and black hair …and smiling at me.

Nice teeth very tan.

Then you got out of your car and strolled with a relaxed athletic gate

to the buggy corral.

Elegantly you snatched one free and pushed it inside.


When you were gone I climbed out of my old and tiny car.

I peeped into your Lexus.

Golf bag and clubs in the front seat, obviously your date.

A green Heineken bottle in the cup holder and a white I-pod charger.

You were old but not an idiot.


After spending fifty nine dollars and forty minutes I exited Wal-Mart.

Briefly, I wondered if your car was still there.

It was not.

But you’d left the Heineken bottle in the middle of your parking spot,

waiting to do horrific things.

Selfish, lazy asshole.