Meatloaf
and a Rosary
A Selection of Poems
Lori Arnold McFarlane
Copyright
© 2012 Lori Arnold McFarlane, Smashwords Edition.
All rights
reserved worldwide.
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is for Scott, who makes me believe I am a real poetess.
Table of Contents
Ladies
Who Love the World
As They Know It
Spring Used To Be My Favourite
A
Woman to the Rev.’s Wife
Outside the Fitness Club on JFK and
Garland
If You Are Listening To Me In Heaven
A Little Graveyard in Damascus, Arkansas
He Killed a Dragon In His Sleep
Ladies
Who Love the World
As They Know It
Rosehips
in a warm brew
of freshly squeezed lemon-citrus
steam from tiny
tea cups
painted with yellow ladies in straw hats
petting with
imperfect pink fingers
perching baby bluebirds
on a cloudy
Thursday in April –
listening to the silence of their
breaths
between gusts of curlicue winds
and white snowflake
dogwood petals
wondering where their men are,
wishing they were
pregnant,
and all the while enjoying themselves
and the little
tea cups they are painted on.
All the peanut butter, honey and banana sandwiches in
the world
will not stop these tears from waterfalling,
and I’ll
never take another entomology special study,
without daydreaming
of our favourite black putrefaction
that we love so dearly and
know so well,
thanks to those morbid phone hours we wasted.
And
next time I dance I won’t lead because you taught me how,
and
I’ll choose white over wheat out of spite.
And when the
daffodils die, Spring will too, and I hate that,
but it happens,
just like long wavy brown hairs that I find on my bed
that aren’t
mine or yours happen, but I’m not assuming anything.
Good
Records leaves a bad taste in my mouth and E.T.
might as well fly
me across the moon
since you just let me fall half way.
Take my
spare key and clip it to your belt loop and see if I call back.
I
probably will, you know that’s my downfall,
but at least I
haven’t driven by your duplex yet, wouldn’t that be
psychotic?
And now pink toenails or French manicures seem
ridiculous,
and why do I shave my legs after all? I never
wondered before,
thanks, darling, for whitewashing my brain.
Power
chords still play though we never wrote those songs,
and in church
I won’t sit by you and we’ll see who talks about it.
I’ll
still read a book a month, even though I’m behind,
but all the
upside down kisses in the world
and all the green tea can’t fix
what you broke.