Mimi-Mona Poetry: escapee she terror

_©escapee she terror

Mimi Wolske

fled the noise—escapee she;

shadows; some imbecile

to rubble; flee she

an escapee not; would society. think?

she needed get undetected.

she. Flee? alien think? she

drinks, Helmet appears informs he

backs the actress; Mona he

sleeps… Mona appears wanting, has

his coffee. Helmet appears door,

then wants returned. Mother.

come actress coffee. Mona to him

at every hour. he was monster

a drunken rage; terrorized she convinced,

a drunken haze; friends once now

convinced was and once her and

every marriage nightmare.

A Dada Poem

Mimi-Mona Poetry: No Alibi

©No Alibi

Mimi Wolske

Mimi Wolske-Mona Arizona™

October 2014

All Rights Reserved

It is never ending: it begins, it exists.

I have no alibi...I stole your heart

with lines written across your chest and

words drawn on your sated back...

It's the difference between being and been

you said this and I want to believe

that those who hurt us won't last

those who love us will

Love is like bindweeds

wrapping around itself

strengthening, burgeoning,

blossoming, existing, never ending

Mimi-Mona Poetry: Quid Pro Quo

©Quid Pro Quo

Mimi Wolske

Mimi Wolske-Mona Arizona™

October 2014

All Rights Reserved

  

Maybe I have law enforcement genes;

I can't walk passed a bakery

without drooling (read: buying) donuts.

There are red marks on my waist.

I've become the kink,

discombobulated,

in the chain of sidewalk fashion

with their flowing dresses,

rolling briefcases, and

good posture and leanness.

My pants are too tight.

It's only ten pounds,

people say in soothing, melodic tones

while whispering behind my back

and laughing: Ohmygod! Twenty pounds! At least!

Skinny jeans and tight T-shirts come in packs;

don't judge me! I prefer my chocolate extra dark.

Bag of groceries splits from the weight;

brie and cream pies and sweet rolls spill;

I trip on the curb rushing to gather them up

as a handsome, expensive suit turns the corner,

turns into me. We both jump apart;

he with athletic ease and grace;

me like a shoved, dressed hog

precariously balanced on one foot.

I contaminate his expensive press job

with my bulging blue jeans

and my rumpled, oversized sweater.

He offers me a lethal smile;

I proffer him a sweet roll—

quid pro quo.