Call Me Ramona

I am wise with clear eyes or I'm the old one
      at lunch in the park who takes off everything
but a bikini and socks. I close my eyes

and arrange the living room, moving the sofa
      a quarter turn. My dream loses a son
from the grocery store aisle to the circus

where elephants want someone to remember.
      Some thoughts have glue on them.
My mother packed my head full of underwear

labeled virgin cotton. I need a sound-track
      with red music that dances. Give me
a new, exotic name.

JoAnne Growney
http://joannegrowney.com

http://bathroompoet.net