JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

Golden curls flaming

like a sunburst over her

innocent alabaster moonface

five years old, already a cross between

Anna Pavlova and Norma Jean

 

Impudently accepting her place at the

center of attention of every act she inhabits

 

Now, mauve leggings wet by some

unmentioned accident she comes to sit

beside me on the chaise longue

legs ceilingward as she tugs
the offending garment off

 

When I look back she is prim again

folds of her cascading Barbie doll skirts

securely concealing her down to her

multicolored painted toenails

 

Hopping off the sofa she shoots me

a coquettish smile – You shouldn’t look

at my knickers – it’s not polite

 

and with a pirouette she flashes away

towards her future world of stage

succeeding stage