JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

She’s half toothless

one in front remaining as a

milk-teeth owner’s reliance

on tomorrows crop - already

pushing their way to freedom

 

She’s a seven year old miniature

of Marilyn Monroe’s alabaster

peachiness, body lithe as a

fresh green twig as she stands

out from all the others in

exuberance at her dance class

 

She remembers every minute of

her busy school day, reciting

who pushed who and which

girls allowed you to join their

clique and on what conditions

as she adroitly connects the cables

of the kids computer, fingers searching

for her favorite game or sing-along

 

Headphones clamped over bouncing

blonde curls she accompanies the

latest hits in off-key soprano

memorizing new lyrics instantaneously

like the way she effortlessly flips

through all her homework with one

hand fondling her upturned-tailed kittens

 

She hasn’t got around yet to answering

that famous question about what she’d

like to do when she grows up – astronaut,

waitress, veterinarian, mother to ten kids

anything’s possible still

 

But today she informed us nonchalantly

after listening to a recital of her mother’s

do’s and don’ts – “laws” she declares with

that infectious toothless grin “are created

to be broken”