| Jonathan Berger's Poetry: Poem of the Day |
| HER GLASSES She says she hates her glasses. I say, “I love your glasses, but please take them off.” She says her shoes are too tight the color’s too light they don’t fit right. I coo and ah over the tan slingback mules but say, “If it don’t fit, get out of it.” She says her coat makes her hot. I agree, say “Me, too. I’ll hang it up.” And it goes on: her loathing her revulsion her disrespect of things that I hold dear is irksome and insulting and frustrating and I wish I could slap her down, around, throughout the town and tell her “Your clothes, your hair, your cosmetics are all wonderful. They are part of you. To shun them to shed them like a lizard does little good as they always return. And like a snake they’re hard to shake.” I want to say this. I try to say this. But then she starts talking about her worn/torn dress. And in a paralytic state of shock, serendipity and desire I shut up. |