JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

Mrs. Morgenstern dabs crimson enamel

on to her outstretched fingernails

waves hands back and forth to dry

to her they look like blinking neon signs

 

Her palette of eye colors

is all mussed up

blues and greens smear into one another

she rubs a bit of both

under each eye

 

The face powder pad

is torn and stained

since it fell into her coffee

and she fished it out

dried it on the window sill

so sometimes she applies the powder

with her index finger

 

Still looking at her reflection

in the mirror, she fumbles

for a lipstick – many are bent or broken –

selects one, daubs it on her upper lip

then rubs her lips together

up and down, side to side

 

Well, that will have to do

she mouths at her reflection

takes a last swig at her scotch and water

Mrs. Morgenstern is ready for:

     her canasta party,

     her night out with the ladies,

     another funeral,

     one of those, or something else, perhaps,

          you never know!