Hormonal Lisa

Well, I surely did not mean to abandon my friends at Poetry Thursday, especially on the week I suggested the assignment, ekphrasis (pronounced like emphasis).

I was doing well with my Thursdays, writing a poem a week from October through about February. But my thesis demanded my attention, and I dropped the poetry ball.

All this jawing is my way of excusing myself, yet again. Instead of a new poem, I'll post an old one that fits the assignment, a piece of which I used in the example. Rather than get in any copyright trouble, I'll direct you to "La Joconde," or "The Mona Lisa." I always imagine her talking under her unmoving lips. And these are the things I imagine she's saying.



Hormonal Lisa

Laughter, tears—
I’ll burst into one
with the sudden drama
of a gelato headache
a Charley horse.
Here it comes:
a cacophonic cackle
waiting for eviction
followed by a cold
shoulder of mutton.
Tears bounce like loose pearls
on a marble floor.

I swing with each mood
like a kid in a bumper car
not driving but riding
not waving
not drowning
not speaking to you.
Oh come here.
Go away.
I love you.
Ass.

You are standing
on my exposed last nerve.
Must you confound and confuse
and abuse me with silly questions?
I don’t know if I’d rather
have corn or potatoes,
don’t care how you cook up
the chicken.
Again.

It was hard enough choosing
a flattering outfit—
this frock and this collar
in just the right color.

You know when you asked me
to sit here for you
I wasn’t this puffy
this fluffy
this oval.
And what do you dare to mean
with that nod?
That I’m fat?
That I’m FAT? (FAT?FAT?FAT?FAT?FAT?FAT?)

I am smiling, Leo.
Paint it or leave it.