committed to memory, she's part mimic
part prima donna, knows
what sad ballad works
when the world slips her another
Mickey Mouse man
all squeaky clean and white-gloved.
She's gotten biblical with a few bad boys,
loved and left a little out of whack
and when she loses track of herself
every so often, she always vows
next time will be better.
When she spots a shooting star,
hay truck or genuine red-head
she makes plaintive, sincere wishes,
glances across every crowded room
for improbable strangers
believing happy endings are made
for girls like her, peach and turquoise
bridesmaid dresses filling up their closets.
She yearns to audition
for the better part-
after all, she can cry on a dime,
-stop-
on a nickel.
Her bag may be Dolce and Gabbana
but the goods are pure Walmart.
Humming Delta Dawn, she taps her foot,
hopes to find the promised man.
It's likely her mansion in the sky
will turn out to be only a double-wide,
but in a real nice part of town.
(c)Shann Palmer 2009
from Dashboard Fire
FlashPaperPublications, Richmond, VA
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