"dazzle gradually"

"Dazzle Gradually" 2016 poems, paintings, new art & photography--a diary, a discipline, a delight. Read over my shoulder as I post my unedited poetry ---you can see it in the raw.


Polly Alice

Sunday, December 20, 2015

Tar Man

Ending the year with this poem about being a single mom living with family that help me out a lot. This is rather tongue in cheek but describes one of the days I had a while back that made me realize how opposite my life is from a few years ago. Now I have a new understanding so different from the stay at home mom that I formerly was.

Tar Man

Black tar star, Brer Star
You are no brother o' mine.
My wish stuck--no double slap
can get it gone. It's true,
I have finally become a man.

I come home from work
through traffic, my arms sore
my voice tired from meetings.
Get the mail, grumpy.
Inside the dogs do bark
so they get a pat on the head.
Good dog.
I trip over children's books
shoe strings, and hoods.

There's roast beef on the table
hot, even potatoes and something
green on the side. Taste so good
I have seconds then forget to
ask the kids about their
day because I talk about myself
and my new promotions, my
airy premonitions full of metal.

Then I sit in a leather
chair and pat my dog again.
Someone else has fed him,
cleaned the dishes, I don't
care who. I'm already
planning tomorrow in my
head.

Tomorrow is 40 years away.
I think about 401K, 591,
and work's bottom line, next
month's rent and taxes.
I doze by the
fire full until it's time
for bed. I'm too tired
to consider any Honey-do
list. What the kids
are learning in school
looks fine.

I've achieved it. I am a man.
Nothing bothers me,
I can't find anything in the house,
even the hammer.
Dust and smudge-blind
I only see the goals
under my fists at the
wheel.

Groceries, I didn't buy them
cook them, or put them away.
I don't care how much
they cost or what they
taste like. Ask me the season.
I see a ham on the table so
it's either Thanksgiving
or Easter or 'round about.

Anniversaries are
something they eat in France.
Christmas is expensive.
Church is the prenup for
a nap. . .

Brer Star, I just have
one more wish. Send
me a man, so I can be
the woman again.


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