She invited me to see her dresser; she was featuring snakes on it.
They are marvelous- attractive, shiny, glitzy, delightful, she said.
I avoided the unveiling for six months, not fond of snakes.
Then I saw it, and it was the most glamorous dresser I had ever seen.
How much are you selling this for? I asked her.
She smiled at me with a wide smile. “I am never selling that one, it is mine.”
It truly is absolutely dazzlingly gorgeous!
I live in a magical house with my cats, He and She.
They love me to pieces and give me some glee.
Yesterday at a quarter before ten until three
My dresser gave a bow and served me some tea.
The windows of the house are crisp, clean, and free.
Of cobwebs and dust, they truly do not reflect me.
I am grimy and dirty, said my pal, Sally Anne Lee.
But delighted of course that my dresser served me.
Almost twenty-two years ago the brown eye girl was given advice. So far she had lived by it. She had found herself trying to live up to the person who told her the advice. But how can she keep up with that after all this time? Shouldn't she live up to her own standards instead of theirs? The perfect best friend was right to give her that advice way back then after her father passed away; but now it seems it might not be right for her anymore. Now the perfect best friend is gone now too and she is right back to who she was way back when. The brown eye girl finds herself back to kicking that damn dresser as if she was still that angry little eight year old girl.
I have created a dresser you might like
This was stated to my Uncle Ike
Who had been an artist at one time
But was now a salesman at a five and dime
The dresser was stunning, amazing, a feat
Psychedelic mushrooms made it complete
Ike felt sad he had not gone on to pursue his art
Living his soul dream would have been smart
Artist was proud to show him what she had done
She remembered he had an amazing sense of fun
We nieces and nephews actually never knew
Our uncle had this kind of artistic talent too
It was the dresser few could have visualized
I spotted it in the flea market as fantasized
Patterns most would have been able to think up or paint
Created by an artesian whose designs are never faint
This dresser had a signature, not any kind of surprise
So marvelously orchestrated it nearly hurt my eyes
It was a gorgeous dresser, which would look great by my bed.
I only paint one of a kind things, the artist apologetically said.
I have a fabulous dresser, an antique
made out of gorgeous wood of teak
It is totally Victorian, and yet somehow sleek
Found a long time ago at a home beside a creek
Its interior drawers are shabby, quite bleak.
Yet the outside has an incredibly well-built physique.
She is pretty when refurbished, totally chic.
Her clothes drawers sometimes have an ominous squeak.
She once had a small gray inhabitant who gave out a shriek.
His mousey noises were to us humans little understood Greek.
Once in a while I still hear a ghostlike tiny small eek.
You can ask my cousin about it too. His name is Zeke.
She’s shabby chic, a bedroom chair said at the recycled furniture fair.
They were speaking of Violet, and it hurt her feelings.
“You mean shabby all over!” a mirror said to a chandelier.
The tent shook with all of their laughter; Violet felt ashamed.
Someone purchased her and stripped her paints off.
She felt naked and vulnerable; even though she was alone.
Don’t worry, the designer told her. You are going to be beautiful.
She trusted Crystin, the designer; she was talkative and fun.
Crystin worked on Violet for over eight months.
At the end, she was incredibly beautiful; outstandingly gorgeous.
Violet could not look in the mirror; she felt it was too vain.
Because she kept saying “you’re gorgeous!” every time.
At the next fair, Violet was sold to another designer for two thousand.
The mirror and the chandelier were irritated; they had not been sold.
Violet decided to not make fun of them or hurt their feelings though.
Because she was too beautiful to be shabby in any way.
Looking back
curiously acquiescent
in 4th floor chaos
Looking through these
dresser drawers of
sleepy underclothing
Retrospective shirts
and tiresome socks,
these sheaths of self
more coincidental
than designed
Everything ajar,
windows, doors
my dresser drawers
Clues left coyly
in my path
by boorish poltergeists
Half absent,
I impassively apprise their
surreptitious ways,
their secret jokes
on my reclusion
Seen wearing his wife’s silken gown
O’Keef’s soon the talk of the town
In her basque and pink bra
He looked like a p orn star
His wife gave him a dressing down
He admits’ I’m into cross dressing
And this is my way of confessing
You’re the same size as me
I wear your clothes for free -
My desires I’m no longer suppressing!
03/24/20
Is your ceiling rolling?
I sigh.
She is eighty-eight.
On pain pills.
Maybe hallucinating.
No Mom.
Yes, it is, she insists.
Okay, Mom.
Is that man coming today?
What man?
The one I saw yesterday.
I sigh.
Is it the pills
Or something worse?
Oh, boy! She yells.
She is staring at the dresser.
Let him out! She commands me.
I walk over to the dresser.
This one? I ask, hovering my hand over a drawer.
I have to purge lions out of this drawer twice yesterday.
which words
makes him stumble
those he wishes to hear
or those he longs to hear
which words do she want to hear
those that causes togetherness
or those that divides loneliness
might the two be the same?
I espied a large woman called Evie
(She was wearing her husband’s mankini)
Though her skin was quite pale
She looked like a beached whale
It’s a pity his outfit’s so weenie
Of her figure Evie is proud
but Evie is so well endowed
‘Twas a bright a sunny day
with huge boobs on display
This outfit it drew quite a crowd
An onlooker passed her a towel
Saying cover those boobies they’re foul
Please don’t wear a mankini -
Wear a woman’s bikini
Evie blushed red and gave him a scowl
3/28/18
On my dark dresser
I have some fun for season
I have lit pumpkins
Some evil looking pumpkins
Great Jack-O-Lanterns tonight
Russell Sivey