Dim Lady

(Woman and Bird in the Moonlight by Joan
Miró, 1893-1983, Spanish painter, ceramist,
and sculptor)

A friend of this blog sent us this modern prose-poem version of yesterday’s Sonnet 130 by Shakespeare.

Thank you, Dylan.

DIM LADY

My honeybunch’s peepers are nothing like neon. Today's special at Red Lobster is redder than her kisser. If Liquid Paper is white, her racks are institutional beige. If her mop were Slinkys, dishwater Slinkys would grow on her noggin. I have seen tablecloths in Shakey’s Pizza Parlors, red and white, but no such picnic colors do I see in her mug. And in some minty-fresh mouthwashes there is more sweetness than in the garlic breeze my main squeeze wheezes. I love to hear her rap, yet I’m aware that Muzak has a hipper beat. I don’t know any Marilyn Monroes. My ball and chain is plain from head to toe. And yet, by gosh, my scrumptious twinkie has as much sex appeal for me as any lanky model or platinum movie idol who’s hyped beyond belief.

~ Harryette Mullen, born 1953, American poet and professor of English