January 22, 2000
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Most of it's too dreary
or too cherry red.
If it's a chair, it's
covered with things
the savior said
or should have said
dense admonishments
in nail polish
too small to be read.
If it's a picture,
the frame is either
burnt matches glued together
or a regular frame painted over
to extend the picture. There never
seems to be a surface equal
to the needs of these people.
Their purpose wraps
around in the backs of things
and under arms;
they gouge and hatch
and glue on charms
till likable materials
apple crates and canning funnels
lose their rural ease. We are not
pleased the way we thought
we would be pleased.
Kay Ryan
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Charivaria / Poems / January 22, 2000
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