Diane Di Prima — Poem of refusals

No strong men in shirtsleeves

striding thru

my kitchen: warm & obtuse.

No me curled-like-kitten around

a leeping child & smiling

seductively.

No short skirts, no long

breaths; I will not

glance sidelong after reading a poem

to see

if you understood it.

No cozy patios, front yards

my cats

will never be fat. No one

will put me on a T-shirt;

I may never

learn to put on my own make-up.

Don' wanna sit

quiescent in the car while someonw else

drives. No circles to go

around in. No checkerboard

linoleum. No.

No dishwasher; washing machine

unlikely. No flowers,

good legs, plaintive

poems about marriage. Wind

is what men are, & my poems

the sea. Children like grass

on the hills - they hang

in there. Or like a forest.

They don't come & go.

No rainbows. Only pelicans

flopping clumsy, hoping

for that one

Big Fish. You can bet

I won't be wistful, let it go by

wondering later what it could have been like.

My memories run together.

And I'm none too sure now

who did what to whom.

What we did wrong.

But I burned the script

where I meet your eyes & smile.