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Best Famous Denise Duhamel Poems

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by Denise Duhamel | |

Snow Whites Acne

 At first she was sure it was just a bit of dried strawberry juice,
or a fleck of her mother's red nail polish that had flaked off
when she'd patted her daughter to sleep the night before.
But as she scrubbed, Snow felt a bump, something festering under the surface, like a tapeworm curled up and living in her left cheek.
Doc the Dwarf was no dermatologist and besides Snow doesn't get to meet him in this version because the mint leaves the tall doctor puts over her face only make matters worse.
Snow and the Queen hope against hope for chicken pox, measles, something that would be gone quickly and not plague Snow's whole adolescence.
If only freckles were red, she cried, if only concealer really worked.
Soon came the pus, the yellow dots, multiplying like pins in a pin cushion.
Soon came the greasy hair.
The Queen gave her daughter a razor for her legs and a stick of underarm deodorant.
Snow doodled through her teenage years—"Snow + ?" in Magic Markered hearts all over her notebooks.
She was an average student, a daydreamer who might have been a scholar if she'd only applied herself.
She liked sappy music and romance novels.
She liked pies and cake instead of fruit.
The Queen remained the fairest in the land.
It was hard on Snow, having such a glamorous mom.
She rebelled by wearing torn shawls and baggy gowns.
Her mother would sometimes say, "Snow darling, why don't you pull back your hair? Show those pretty eyes?" or "Come on, I'll take you shopping.
" Snow preferred staying in her safe room, looking out of her window at the deer leaping across the lawn.
Or she'd practice her dance moves with invisible princes.
And the Queen, busy being Queen, didn't like to push it.


by Denise Duhamel | |

Buddhist Barbie

 In the 5th century B.
C.
an Indian philosopher Gautama teaches "All is emptiness" and "There is no self.
" In the 20th century A.
D.
Barbie agrees, but wonders how a man with such a belly could pose, smiling, and without a shirt.


by Denise Duhamel | |

The Threat

 my mother pushed my sister out of the apartment door with an empty 
suitcase because she kept threatening to run away my sister was sick of me
getting the best of everything the bathrobe with the pink stripes instead of 
the red the soft middle piece of bread while she got the crust I was sick with 
asthma and she thought this made me a favorite

I wanted to be like the girl in the made-for-tv movie Maybe I'll Come Home
in the Spring which was supposed to make you not want to run away but it 
looked pretty fun especially all of the agony it put your parents through and 
the girl was in California or someplace warm with a boyfriend and they
always found good food in the dumpsters at least they could eat pizza and 
candy and not meat loaf the runaway actress was Sally Field or at least
someone who looked like Sally Field as a teenager the Flying Nun propelled 
by the huge wings on the sides of her wimple Arnold the Pig getting drafted
in Green Acres my understanding then of Vietnam I read Go Ask Alice and 
The Peter Pan Bag books that were designed to keep a young girl home but 
there were the sex scenes and if anything this made me want to cut my hair 
with scissors in front of the mirror while I was high on marijuana but I
couldn't inhale because of my lungs my sister was the one to pass out
behind the church for both of us rum and angel dust

and that's how it was my sister standing at the top of all those stairs that 
lead up to the apartment and she pushed down the empty suitcase that
banged the banister and wall as it tumbled and I was crying on the other side 
of the door because I was sure it was my sister who fell all ketchup blood and 
stuck out bones my mother wouldn't let me open the door to let my sister 
back in I don't know if she knew it was just the suitcase or not she was cold 
rubbing her sleeves a mug of coffee in her hand and I had to decide she said I 
had to decide right then


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by Denise Duhamel | |

On Being Born The Same Exact Day Of The Same Exact Year As Boy George

 We must have clamored for the same mother, hurried for
 the same womb.
I know it now as I read that my birthday is his.
Since the first time I saw his picture, I sensed something— and with a fierce bonding and animosity began following his career.
Look where I am and look where he is! There is a book documenting his every haircut while all my image-building attempts go unnoticed, even by my friends.
I'm too wimpy to just dye my curls red or get them straightened.
I, sickeningly moral, talked about chemicals when I should have been hanging out with George's pal, Marilyn.
He would have set me right: Stop your whining and put on this feather tuxedo.
Look, do you want to be famous or not? In the latest articles, Boy George is claiming he's not really happy.
Hmm, I think, just like me.
When he comes to New York and stays in hotels in Gramercy Park maybe he feels a pull to the Lower East Side, wanders towards places where I am, but not knowing me, doesn't know why.
One interviewer asks if he wishes he were a woman.
Aha! I read on with passion: and a poet?—I bet you'd like that— You wouldn't have to sing anymore, do those tiring tours.
George, we could switch.
You could come live at my place, have some privacy, regain your sense of self.
So I begin my letter.
Dear Boy George, Do you ever sit and wonder what's gone wrong? If there's been some initial mistake? Well, don't be alarmed, but there has been.


by Denise Duhamel | |

Buying Stock

 ".
.
.
The use of condoms offers substantial protection, but does not guarantee total protection and that while there is no evidence that deep kissing has resulted in transfer of the virus, no one can say that such transmission would be absolutely impossible.
" --The Surgeon General, 1987 I know you won't mind if I ask you to put this on.
It's for your protection as well as mine--Wait.
Wait.
Here, before we rush into anything I've bought a condom for each one of your fingers.
And here-- just a minute--Open up.
I'll help you put this one on, over your tongue.
I was thinking: If we leave these two rolled, you can wear them as patches over your eyes.
Partners have been known to cry, shed tears, bodily fluids, at all this trust, at even the thought of this closeness.