Spring Cleaning
by Jan Portugal
In a corner in my studio
a pile of material
grown to a staggering height
lurks attentivly
awaiting final resurection
independantly it has become
the definitive growth of
formless unredeemable clammer
delicately balancing
announcements for defunct art shows,
poetry readings, final sales, magazines,
newsclippings, half read books defying gravity,
deriding order
a baby announcement
little Roger must be 2 years old by now
did I send a gift?
a pile...
so large, begs for matching quilt
and throw pillows to admit it's presence
a kudos for bearing the responsibility
I can not.
In Her Best Macho Mood
by Jan Portugal
she handles the trash like
a sack of dead perch
like a man with a bad habit
it keeps her worth from disapearing
she never meant to be alone
somehow it happened
she was always twice the man of every man she loved
removing her skirt to make love
she remembers when she was sixteen
she left it on to hide her shame
once a man told her not to touch his pee pee,
no doubt a word his mother taught him,
no doubt
she touched a boy's pee pee
when she was three
and was punished for twenty-eight years
until her mother died
now she touches what she wants
when she wants
she buried her guilt
under a tree in forest lawn
with her mother
someday she'll bury the anger
someday with a man she loves