i stopped the read, it feels like a completely different poem. still a decent poem but not a patch on the original.
(09-15-2013, 01:33 AM)Erthona Wrote: I decided to repost this as the original had so many comments attached to it, it just seemed unwieldy. If that is incorrect I assume a mod and unrepost it.
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Madge - version dos
version 2
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Hot! Oil seeps out of the asphalt road
and cars make a sticky noise as they pass by
sounding like fat people sex on a hot night.
At the bus stop is a woman with
tumbleweed blown straw-blond hair, it's a better image
lips painted like a freshly cut pink neon fig, preferred the original
and deep crevices carved in pasty skin like this
from years of negligent living. but much preferred [It makes me think her name must be
something like “Madge”.] this as an ending to the stanza. for me i see something of the persons thought process with this ending. this new ending feels flat
She reminds me of the Palmolive
dish-wash soap manicurist,
so I'm thinking her name might be
Madge...Not a name you hear much now.
That was from a time when if you were cool
you rolled your Lucky's up in the sleeve
of your tight white cotton shirt,
wielded a Zippo like a samurai sword,
and lit two, one for you and one for her. i think you're no longer posting as you, instead you're doing what i do too much of, trying to please the critic and in doing so make it worse. this has a whole new and less worthy feel to it. how does one use a zippo like a sword:HUH:
She has that look like she's done a year
or two in what they call jail these days.
Nothing like the jail on the
Andy Griffith Show where
Otis, the town drunk, slept it off
then let himself out the next morning.
No one was letting Madge out
through those double vault doors
after her last bender, when she
smashed her fender into that street light.
She's obviously on the way to work;
wearing the ubiquitous medium-dark
brown knit knee length dress that serves
as the standard uniform
for servitors in such places
as the occupational cleaning industry
and chain cafeterias like Luby's where they
monotonously repeat their zombie phrases
a thousand times a day,
“hep ya”, “moe tea”, and “cum’gin” *
while serving their purgatory on earth,
but it's hard for a felon to get a job these days.
I can see through the heat distortion
swirling up from the earth
acting as a convection oven,
that she's firing up a cigarette,
and I wonder how someone like her
can afford to smoke, when a pack cost
the equivalent of two hours of work.
Well, I guess you just find a way
when it is a matter of life and death!
©2013 -Erthona
* “hep ya”, “moe tea”, and “cum’gin”
help you, more tea, and come again.
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original version
Hot! Oil seeps out of the asphalt road;
cars make a sticky noise as they pass by,
sounding like fat people sex on a hot night.
At the bus stop is a woman with
overly-processed straw blond hair,
lipsticked lips like a freshly cut neon fig,
and deep crevices in pasty skin.
It makes me think her name must be
something like “Madge”.
She has probably done a year
or two in the prison they call jail.
A jail without any of the
Mayberry RFD homey qualities
where the town drunk sleeps it off,
then lets himself out in the morning.
She's obviously on the way to work,
wearing the ubiquitous medium-dark
brown knit knee length dress that serves
as the standard uniform
for servitors in such places
as the occupational cleaning industry
and chain cafeterias where they
monotonously repeat their zombie phrases
“hep ya”, “moe tea”, and “cum’gin”.
Through the visual heat distortion
swirling up from earth as convection oven
I can see her smoking a cigarette,
and I wonder how someone like her
can afford to smoke, when a pack cost
the equivalent two hours of work.
Well, I guess you find a way
when it is a matter of life and death!
©2013 -Erthona