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About this Poem 

"I wrote this poem after hearing Margaret Cho in an interview off-handedly make a joke about her many tattoos—she said that she couldn’t really carry a corsage because she’d clash with it. I laughed, but she also made me think about woman-as-flower, and that led me to the rest."
—Denise Duhamel

Permanence

Denise Duhamel, 1961

The barista at the coffee shop is covered in tattoos. She says there are only two ways they hold her back. 1. She can’t work at Starbucks. 2. She can’t wear a corsage, since she’d just be way too busy, and this makes me laugh. She says no to gifts from prom dates—the wrist corsage, the pinned corsage; no to bridal bouquets, the get-well-soon carnations. One day soon her mother will insist on sympathy wreaths around her coffin, which is closed, lest she be confused with the flowers.

Copyright © 2013 by Denise Duhamel. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-A-Day on June 24, 2013. Browse the Poem-A-Day archive.

Copyright © 2013 by Denise Duhamel. Used with permission of the author. This poem appeared in Poem-A-Day on June 24, 2013. Browse the Poem-A-Day archive.

Denise Duhamel

Denise Duhamel

Born in 1961, Denise Duhamel is the author of numerous books and chapbooks of poetry

by this poet

poem
The perfect voter has a smile but no eyes,
maybe not even a nose or hair on his or her toes,
maybe not even a single sperm cell, ovum, little paramecium.
Politics is a slug copulating in a Poughkeepsie garden.
Politics is a grain of rice stuck in the mouth
of a king. I voted for a clump of cells,
anything to
poem
I stopped drinking on my way down the hill
to the liquor store when two guys pulled up
and tried to drag me into their pickup. I crossed the street
then ran in the opposite direction, puffing
against the incline. The stranger thrust into reverse 
and, when I wouldn't talk to him,
threw a bag of McDonald’s trash
poem
my mother pushed my sister out of the apartment door with an empty 
suitcase because she kept threatening to run away  my sister was sick of me
getting the best of everything  the bathrobe with the pink stripes instead of 
the red  the soft middle piece of bread while she got the crust  I was sick with 
asthma