Well, if we're allowed to post Rose's poems here, here's another:
The Poet Who Will Win This Competition
studied Latin and Greek, and lets us know.
Doesn’t need to Google “Philoctetes”.
Was born approximately thirty years ago.
In high school, did her homework. Ate her Wheaties.
Strove, as an only child, to please her mom.
Dated a jock. Resisted his entreaties
until the time was right: her senior prom.
(Was able to go; her boyfriend wasn’t thirty.)
Never played Russian roulette, or built a bomb
from cigarettes and butane. Wasn’t nerdy,
just clever. Never ran away from home.
Never got paid for doing something dirty,
or snapped her gum, or stole a pocket comb.
Thinks poets who write of lurid things are lame
sensationalists; that life’s the Hippodrome,
that she’s in front, though others, to their shame,
take shortcuts. Never snorted something blue,
got lost in the amusement park, and came
home with a rash from only God knows who.
Never wrote anything foolish. Takes her fame
in stride; expects it. Never says “fuck you”.
Rose Kelleher, from Bundle o’ Tinder (The Waywiser Press, 2008)
|