SWANK
The yellow dress hits high above
the tops of her knees,
blouse strapless, shoulders smooth,
breasts perfectly befitting a healthy
young woman just short of 30
balancing two elegant shopping bags
from an after-Christmas sale
in the shaded parking lot in a neighborhood
where all goes well along quaint narrow streets,
so happy to be out and about and smiling at
the handsome young man in the Porsche
who only a few hours before successfully
reaffirmed her womanhood and now smiles
at her striding long legged and proud across
bright painted yellow lines on five inch heels
In her time zone in Southern California
it is exactly 2 p.m. on December 26, 2004,
the very moment his car radio announces
a giant tsunami has just
remodeled the entire coastline of Sumatra
What more can be said except that she is pretty,
and laughs pretty and swoons pretty
and good for her, and “Oh Tony, turn
that goddamn thing off, will you?
I mean who really gives a shit?”
about a whatever itz called way the hell
out there in Africa or whatever-er land
on such a wonderfully groovy kick ass
day in the United States of America