Dorothy

Posted on July 6, 2004 in Poems

This poem isn’t meant to resemble anyone I know in real life. I just composed it while sitting in a dentist’s chair waiting to have a crown installed. It was one of those rare days when I found myself out in rush hour traffic. Some of the sights along the way figured into the poem.

Every car is a rocket

a slow-flying cruise missile

seeking to deliver its payload

without exploding on impact.

As soon as she arrives at work

behind the pane of emerald glass

the receptionist sitting beneath the American flag

tells her that the patriot owner

is sending every job — but his — to India.

With her severance check

she blows off to Kansas

to sit on the porch of the duplex

Auntie Em rented when she lost the farm.

How is she going to pay for Toto’s rabies shot now?

I deem this incomplete.