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First Date

Small talk over coffee
undoubtedly leads to talking
about our passions.
I can see in your eyes
that the mere mention of my art
throws up red flags for you.

You imagine me
an eccentric woman
in a thrift-store cardigan
sipping darjeeling
and quoting poets
long dead before Lincoln.

I'll ravage you nightly
before ranting in riddles
about cocoons and radishes,
things you won't understand.

After birthing our children by moonlight
I'll bury the placenta
under the daffodils
and insist on homeschool
before I crack.

You'll come home to find me
leaping from the 13th floor
with both wrists slit
hanging from the rafters

with my head in the oven.

Heckled by the neighbors,
you're the talk of the town-
the question looming
until your last days
'Did he drive her to it?'

Back in coffee shop reality,
you smile and say "That's nice."
But I know better
than to expect a return call.

5 comments:

Paul said...

This poem would make a great Twilight Zone episode! Probably not what you wanted to hear, but still...

mbdc said...

Haha, I love that. The Twilight Zone was an awesome show. I'll totally take that as a compliment. :)

Laurie said...

I love your poetry. (Stopping by from She Writes) Keep the strike-out lines. The craziness of all three happening at once is very effective.

mbdc said...

Thank you, Laurie! I'm so glad to have others from She Writes dropping by! The strike outs were my favorite part of this poem, so I'm thrilled that you enjoyed them as well!

Rhett said...

You are a wonnerful writer.

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