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Today I
Today I
Throw the cat off my lap
Give the finger to a driver
Glare at the cashier
Today I
Snap at my lover
Snip at the idiot who blocks my driveway
Snipe at the neighbor's barking dogs
And your perpetual smile?
I'd like to pinch it off and flush it.
Today, on the inside, where the battles between
The Buddha and the Beast rage,
The Beast has won.
Today I
Throw the cat off my lap
Give the finger to a driver
Glare at the cashier
Today I
Snap at my lover
Snip at the idiot who blocks my driveway
Snipe at the neighbor's barking dogs
And your perpetual smile?
I'd like to pinch it off and flush it.
Today, on the inside, where the battles between
The Buddha and the Beast rage,
The Beast has won.
Poetry and Prose by Deborah Lattizori
Nothing Personal
I ask my mother
What was it like when I was born?
I don't remember, she says.
They drugged us good in those days.
But I didn't want you.
Nothing personal.
Your grandmother wanted me to be a singer
So I went to New York, sang in some cafes.
Your father wanted me to be a mother
So I bought those awful tent tops
And in the ninth month, tied the hair up
Off my neck so as not to mind the heat.
But what was it like when I was born?
I had to stop looking in the mirror, she says,
Then she pauses, takes a drag of her cigarette.
Yeah. Too bad. Too bad.
She looks at her long slender fingers.
I wanted to play the piano.
I ask my mother
What was it like when I was born?
I don't remember, she says.
They drugged us good in those days.
But I didn't want you.
Nothing personal.
Your grandmother wanted me to be a singer
So I went to New York, sang in some cafes.
Your father wanted me to be a mother
So I bought those awful tent tops
And in the ninth month, tied the hair up
Off my neck so as not to mind the heat.
But what was it like when I was born?
I had to stop looking in the mirror, she says,
Then she pauses, takes a drag of her cigarette.
Yeah. Too bad. Too bad.
She looks at her long slender fingers.
I wanted to play the piano.