1.23.2010

An Ode to Susan Mitchell

Fell upon some photos
not entirely by accident
and saw the tell-tale signs:
bruised legs, bad ink, cans
of cheap beer displayed proudly
like badges of courage too stubborn to hide.
She'd been half-way across our great nation
with some greasy white trash half-wit
possibly in a traveling carnival.
There was a time when it seemed
she'd someday surpass her sister's beauty--
now that's out of the question, not that
I ever would've admitted to it had it happened.
And when I made the mistake of
falling upon that other dagger...

We're given one life: somehow
it's both too much and not enough.
There are things for which
you can never apologize. It'd be
unfair to appear again; you bear
it alone and wonder. A checkered floor.
It was always a checkered floor.
Don't fall any further west.
Don't let that scarf unravel.
I'd give that gold back if I could.
I never deserved it anyway.

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