White-Bread Girl

I could be
wearing tribal tattoos, a shaved head,
pierced body parts slamming my fury
following bands that scream "FUCK" and smash
everything.

But I am the corn-fed, country-bred
woman who's afraid of the big city.
I am the gentlewoman
from whom people take parking spaces,
who reads her poetry
in a soft voice.

When asked, "Who will run and who will stand?",
I could be the silent, steely-eyed,
spinach-eating warrior.
But I am the white-bread girl who has vanilla clothes,
a tray full of red and plum lipsticks,
a palate whose adventures include
real mushrooms, not the ones from the can.
I am the mashed potatoes, corn, noodles, blondie girl
with every-ready smile.

How about...
a maniac howling an unholy mandate
beneath the shadow of a bridge.
A hot-blooded, hot-dawgin'
spit-in-your-eye, for God's sake bulldagger!
Be anyone, but still be me
without the karma
of being my mothers' daughter.

tm - 1997