June Cleaver – foto by smith

I’ll start this week leaning on my wife’s words – another dynamite poem from my Lady love.


I’m sure I’ve heard this poem before

June, where were you
when Ward came home?
It is your time again.

You were chopping delicately
saying Yes, dear
and your lips were so gothic

I imagine you with
on the chocolate line
instead of that fatty

or with the Beatles in

swallowing swords
strings of pearls coughed up from
your stomach

or in some Edward Gorey Story

Or in some place where
they would worship
your breasts
build temples to them
twin towers
to capitalism
and the American Dream

and you and Lucy
that kook
could go to some other Jazz club

cuz Ricky is so
dominating so

or maybe you just sit in a back
room on chintz cushions
reading Ayn Rand
in Black Frame Glasses
which are back in style again
like noire, nukes, and intellectualism
and you would be in black
with black on black shadows
and the pearls

I can imagine a lot of things for you

and it is much better than just
Beaver        Cleaver’s


yes dear – foto by smith

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