 Previous
|
Where Have You Been All My Life, Johnny Depp? by Laurie Joan Aron |
 Next
|
|
| |
|
If I were twelve, I’d write your name in Peter Max pillows
Over and over until it was perfect.
But you were only seven, then.
Five years makes a difference.
You can’t remember the day JFK was shot.
That could be a problem in a relationship.
But I’m in love with your celluloid personalities: pirate, gypsy, dead man.
So it’s a little exciting to know that you go to the grocery store and the dentist, too.
Next time you’re in my town, I shop at the West Side, and see Dr. Klein.
First published in Circle Magazine (Winter 2004)
Used here with the author’s permission.
|
.JPG)
Burned out after fifteen years as a freelance writer/reporter and a lovely year of homeschooling her then second grader, Laurie Joan Aron woke up one day and felt compelled to express herself in poetry. Though she’s taken a few workshops, none of which she considers very helpful, Laurie has no formal training as a poet. Nonetheless, some forty of her poems have found their way into journals. Laurie, who is also a visual artist, lives in New York City with her husband and three children. You can see some of her wonderful cut paper collages here and here.
|
|
|
There are no comments for this poem yet.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Contents of this web site and all original text and images therein are copyright © by Your Daily Poem. All rights reserved.
The material on this site may not be copied, reproduced, downloaded, distributed, transmitted, stored, altered, adapted,
or otherwise used in any way without the express written permission of the owner. |
|