Yes, I’m subjecting you all to more of my poetry, only because a few of you insisted that I post these pieces somewhere “permanent” so you can read them to your heart’s content no matter what end of the earth I’ve wandered off to. The photo, like the poem, is at least five years old.
So I’m walking down Bolinas
Minding my life’s business
When suddenly a catcall pierces the air:
Hey there, cowgirl
How you doin’?
It’s just some scruffy shmuck
In a pickup truck
Trying his luck
Hoping to f–
Wanting me to return his boomerang with some friendly chatter, see
But what would happen if I threw back what really matters to me?
How my doin’? Hmm, people are still dying in this stupid oil war, not even the generals know what we’re fighting for, I just stubbed my toe on the car door, I’ve smoked seven hundred cigarettes today and I still want more
Have I mentioned my soul is disturbed to its core?
How ‘ bout a smile?
I try to reconcile my wish to have compassion for all beings
But seeing as that rarely works especially with horny, insensitive jerks
I just stop and say “A what?”
And he leans out his truck
And says y’know, a smile, show me those pearly whites
Well, by now, I am rarin’ for a fight and I say what gives you the right to smile when all the while
Children are stolen from their dreams?
Crazy people beam rockets at life’s sacred dance
The world’s falling apart at the seams like a cheap pair of underpants
What is the chance that you have even read a newspaper today?
You wanna see these pearly whites?
And I stand back
Bare my teeth
And hiss with all my might
The look on his face is a victorious trip
As I swing my child up on my hip
As he drives off into the autumn air
I’m not the woman he thought I was.
Now you might be thinking
What a crazy bitch
And I wish it weren’t true
‘Cause I coulda been nice like a good girl should
Bat my eyelashes
Say it’s all good
No, I didn’t have to be rude
I could have let this dude get on with his day
Without a dose of vitriol from the nasty girl in the cowboy hat
But I didn’t
And that’s that
I don’t know why
So I go home and have good cry
Cuddle my baby up to my breast
And get back to what it is I do best
And this may or may not have something to do with PMS
But I’m certain it’s a warning to which my husband will attest:
If you so choose, you will surely lose
If you try to mess with a tired, angry cowgirl
With the blues.