For My Lovely, Lovely Hilary

My darling friend Hilary actually likes something I wrote, something which I sent her out of pure desperation. Skimming my emails I came across a poem that she'd written, and I felt a strange compulsion, some sort of weird competitive urge to rebut her brilliance. So, here it is, perhaps she will let me post hers? I have yet to ask...
...Whoops! I just realized that, even if she doesn't want it posted, I'm going to post it, because it is lovely. Sorry Hil.

Ode to the Plaid Womb

I'm not getting up.

Try to be supportive.

I will waft up like Doris Day

When I'm so inclined.

Well so what,

I lay down too flat

Too flat too fat

Heavy like cream.

Give me chocolate,

Full mouth sickness,

Body of old milk.

Pour Poor-between-the-sheets.

Great milk lake

Flowing under blankets

Even the cats won't kiss.

Sink down in oil pits

Curdle up.

Try to be supportive.

I will waft up like Doris Day

When I'm so inclined.

Le Mien

The city rooftops pass
along the el train tracks
like afterthoughts,
Denote wealth or
not and sometimes a
man or seagull works
just inches from the passing cars.

The city is still expanding
in the summertime heat
and after
three straight days of rain
the bricks are dry.

Clumsy black fire escapes
cling somehow to exteriors
and the porches will all
someday fall to bits.

Its lovely here in June.


(Note: Chicago truly is lovely in June, despite the oppressive humidity which I can only relate to what I imagine walking through a sponge cake, while baking, is like.)

Ta ta for now!