A TEENAGE GIRL SPEAKS HER MIND When I walk to the corner bakery For Mama’s milk and apple fritters The hardhats across the street Ogle and catcall, me, only sixteen, With Mama dying back home on her bed, Mama who says I’m too pretty to be seen By those animals across the street, Building something, a parking garage I think . . . She warns me to wear a smock and veil Like the Arab ladies but I like my shorts And t-shirt that says “Pink”− they’re comfy. Oh I know how good I look, better than An apple fritter, and why shouldn’t I? Those women on the news say I have my rights And I can wear anything I want anywhere. So there. The animals will just have to hold their horses. Funny, animals holding other animals. Sometime I wonder, though, suppose I was obese And ugly like Mildred next door. Would they whistle then? Would they notice me or just keep nailing With their hammers and prying up old boards With crowbars? I hate when they stare And make obscene gestures with their hips . . . But what would be worse? As it is or not noticed? What would that say about me? I’d be Mildred Who walks to the same bakery sometimes Like she was invisible. No one stares at Mildred, No one thrusts out his hips or sticks out his tongue. And poor Mama, at home, dying on her bed.
Posted on: Tue, 18 Jun 2013 15:16:25 +0000
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