we who are your closest friends feel the time has come to tell you that every Thursday we have been meeting as a group to devise ways to keep you in perpetual uncertainty frustration discontent and torture by neither loving you as much as you want nor cutting you adrift your analyst is in on it plus your boyfriend and your ex-husband and we have pledged to disappoint you as long as you need us in announcing our association we realize we have placed in your hands a possible antidote against uncertainty indeed against ourselves but since our Thursday nights have brought us to a community of purpose rare in itself with you as the natural center we feel hopeful you will continue to make unreasonable demands for affection if not as a consequence of your disastrous personality then for the good of the collective
From At the End of the Day: Selected Poems and an Introductory Essay, copyright © 2009 by Phillip Lopate. Used by permission of Marsh Hawk Press.
Into the fluorescent rough country
headlong into bulks of flesh
impatient to outspend me
and who wouldn’t fold real quick
under the weight of America’s sales and specials.
I believed then I didn’t
that I was different than I am
in my own skin in this infinity
mirror, instructed such
to seduce myself, to go on.
I am sorry
about the space I take up
about the panic
running around my aspect and my hunger
although it’s nothing
these racks of acrylic winter apparatus
won’t dazzle out of my head.
I’ll take several. I’ll take fistfuls.
I’ll tuck it into my mouth at night to keep me quiet.
|About this poem:|
"I wrote this poem because I find myself terribly overwhelmed by the experience of shopping, by all the stuff and all the people, and all the people in a frenzy over all the stuff. I get confused and I can’t breathe and I can barely remember who I am or what I want. And then I buy something I don’t need."