I attempted to write 30 poems in 30 days during April this year, with mild success, and too much honesty to share it all here. But here are some unedited moments that were tolerable to share, though not good. Point is, I did my homework.
- (In)Complete guide to decorating a Wedding cake
Be complacent. Be prepared
Have a hidden motive
a proven formula
Be nicer if the budget is higher
if they are getting married in a ballroom
Be baroque but not too much so
Be more expensive than the rest
If the are very nice or very cruel
or if they know somebody
or know somebody who knows somebody
If they are wealthy and flirtatious
bend your morals
You charge 90 euros per hour for decor
on top of
the price of cake
you are the best of the best
you are on top of…something
When the Nazis occupy your country
Host the head of the head of Hitler youth in your dining room
in exchange for sugar
Hide your waitresses in a passageway
between the kitchen and the bathroom
Harbor refugees and listen to illegal radio stations
listen to the truth
Hold your head high.
You charge 90 euros per hour of decor
This is not America
so you can only recommend against certain flavors
the soft cheesecakes.
The fragile things.
You cannot make them sign a form
that they won’t complain
when summer forces their wedding cake to bend to them
Amazing how someone I’ve always known to have such low self-esteem
also believes he can literally perform miracles
I told my husband it’s easier to deal
if you just pretend
there is no medication available.
That this is just how things will be
and sometimes it will be more this way
and sometimes less
but it will always be more or less this way
My doctor asked if he has mood swings.
Evidently mood swings are a good thing.
They give a better prognosis.
He said he needed a magnifying glass to read it.
The problem isn’t my glasses
It’s my dry eyes and this damn
She said he had to find the app to call her back with video
That it should already be on his computer
He asked if Microsoft owned skype
And why the damn thing wanted him to make a microsoft account
He said his coworkers didn’t know the password was a combination of her name and her brothers
She said he was getting old.
I am not a poet, I just journal
and put in big spaces.
I am not a poet
I just have an affection for dramatic pause.
I am sorry for all the things I will eat,
Especially the mindless ones. That don’t even taste good. The low fat cheese I ate three times as much of. The full fat cheese I was shoving in my mouth already on the walk home from the grocery store. I am sorry for all the times I went grocery shopping hungry. Or all the times I went with a plan, bought a garden, and watched it rot in the crisper drawer while I ate nachos. I am sorry for the inevitable split zipper, the ripped pants, the hundreds of unflattering photos. Especially the group photos. I am sorry. I hope I was better to you than I expect I will be now. I am not yet 30 . I hope you didn’t cry on your 30th birthday. I hope you feel still feel beautiful once in a while.
On the night of the blood moon I make an appointment to go out and look at it. It is somehow always behind a building.
It is too cold to keep standing outside
You’re shivering let’s go back in
On the night of the harvest moon I am mournful for all the summer days I spent inside.