I want to post a poem before National Poetry Month is over, and I'm in the mood for something frivolous. I wrote this poem several years ago when I became exasperated with the burgeoning bust-enhancement industry in the United States (no pun intended):
GET REAL (NOT)
You can't miss what you've
never had, it's true
That's why I'm sometimes
sad and blue
That I ever laid eyes
on those foreign flicks
that raise false hopes in
who live in the land of bigger, quicker
(newer, slicker)
The languid lens of Guiles and Sven
takes time to linger on Pia's skin,
her blue-veined throat,
the gentle way her fingers float
as she measure the world with a complex stare
(light on the makeup, clothes, and hair)
Well, fellow pilgrim, think again
before you labor selecting a pin
to clasp that scarf beneath your chin
that brings out the sea color of your eyes --
Get wise!
If you believe that subtle, sotto textures
will stir male viewers to sensate conjectures
or that a splash of Muguet
on the nape of your neck
will float on the breeze and be readily met
by a man of deep feeling,
you seem to forget
that this is the land of the ten-second pitch
The Whopper, the Big Gulp,
The
In the land of the chest-beaters, Barbie's the queen.
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