Issue
#1

January
2009

2 poems by Cheryl A. Townsend

WE'LL CALL HER A STEREOTYPE

White ruffles enhance red
Tethered in a slouch of
anticipation and angst
Zombie eyes stare
with macabre grin
She waits for deft hands
to wave her into life
Magical transformation
of chiseled & adorned
Subservient even in
this day of high liberation
A prosthetic appendage
ignored in the shadows
Presented only to perform
Inanimate without use
Like a sweater on a doorknob
or a flag without wind
A question to be answered
just left to hang aloof
But if you pull the right strings
you can--just maybe--make her dance

previously appeared in The City (Summer 2007)

© Cheryl A. Thompson

AND THIS IS WHAT IT GOT ME

I’ve lived my life in tragedy
and fallen into pits of lust
tasted the spit & cum & sweat
of men hardly worth the mention
My poetry has labeled me
just like high school and my last job
but no one understood the need
(jerking off on my hair or tits)
skimming the surface--blindly
It’s a sad, sad epiphany
Inside this room the window is all
that is open

© Cheryl A. Townsend

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