The Rogue Voice

A LITERARY JOURNAL WITH AN EDGE

March 01, 2007

Poems

honeymoon in pismo beach

the ring on my finger
postcards from hearst’s ranch,
the monterey aquarium, old
port inn—
-the movement in my legs
from highway 101 & 1

a bay memory
salmon butterflied
walks along a clean beach
a sunset seen from the pier
in pismo beach

ducks within reaching distance
the softness of her body

driving the cliffs of big sur
downward on the outside
a test of nerves

pure ocean memory
paws at the whiskers
of the sea otters
brisk bay air
clean motel walls
the best bite of a clam
i ever tasted

i picked up a duck egg
from the parking lot of a 7 eleven
& took it to the bank of a nearby inlet placed it on the grass

—Harry E. Northup


Lingerieville

Glancing over my bare shoulder,
I realize the number of women
I have fitted in silk bras, panties, and nylon cat suits
Is enough to populate a community park.

For the past eight years,
I imagine this park squeezed between
Black mesh and micro fiber,
As I perform my duty as intimacy expert.

In one of my lingerie dreams,
At the center of the park,
Women in black mesh crawl across
The white lattice of the gazebo;
California pines turn into green vibrators;
Poppies transform into bright orange pasties.

It is a strange season.
How long will I’ll be able
To sell lingerie before
I am permanently damaged,
A lingerie washout
At thirty-three?

After my lunch break
I spend hours counseling
Women on the phone:
“Ladies, life and relationships are uncertain.
What you need is the latest strap mate
& vibrating thong.”

It never fails.
Thirty minutes before closing,
I fit a narcissist
Into glamorous cat costume and gloves,
Tuck in her folds,
Praise her curves,
While her significant other
Reclines on the divan outside the dressing room.

After work, the low sun
Tucked away in her envelope
Promises me the moon.
Dark clouds move like women
In cat suits.

— Marnie L.Parker



Savages

These deftly applied atrocities,
by which I do not mean

any gentle rape or genocide,
seem to fit the norm by which

our bastard species ruts &
flowers in service of the alleged.

—Todd Young

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  • 1 Comments:

    At 1:34 PM, Blogger hairwaii said...

    Marnie L. Parker, my dear old friend. I always knew I would see your name in *lights*!

     

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