Nearly Wednesday.
This is not at all what I set out to write!
And the ending in particular is crap.
But the Muse has flown and I want to go to bed now. Goodnight!
Janet
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Famous
When I was 17 a palm-reader told me,
"you're going to be famous", but
it hasn't happened. Yet
I can hardly go anywhere without
meeting some person who knows me
and when I recite my poems at readings
in a dramatic black outfit
some people act
like fans, waiting for a tidbit,
a chapbook autographed, saying kind things.
In a dream I visit the main residence
of a man famous as any president
(he is, indeed, a poet,
but he is not famous for that)
and his famous wife, sleek and gracious.
She greets me politely. I tell her my name
and am suddenly aware of the state
of my clothes: the ragged t-shirt
and stained jeans in which I'd slept
under a tree, in the rain, earlier in the dream.
I hope she forgets me, but people rarely do.
But no-one will ever forget
her. The poor woman can't
just sleep out on the street
in old clothes, the way poets do.
A first draft by Janet Jackson
Tue Feb 13 22:45:19 WST 2007
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Janet Jackson <[log in to unmask]>
Poems at Proximity:
http://www.proximity.webhop.net
The choice is between nonviolence and nonexistence.
Martin Luther King Jr.
s
