Poetry |

“My Lost Generation”

My Lost Generation

 

 

When the dial phone vanished, so did Arlene.

Mary Lou took off after Mai Tais went out.

Without leis, rattan, and almond syrup, she lost

 

her desire to live. Because of the rumored death

of the pencil, Margo moved to Browning,

Montana. The market bottomed, so Winslow

 

relocated to a treehouse. Each day he wheels up

bagels and cream cheese and dumps his trash

on the lawn. Because department stores quit

 

selling half slips, Delphine took a train

to Terre Haute. The last onionskin, Wite-Out,

and carbon paper led to the last of Miss Rossiter,

 

said to be reading palms in LA. Tom took a bus

to Topeka after his Mustang was lifted from

cinderblocks and he and it were written off.

 

When the word spinster fell from the language,

Lorilla walked into the hills. Touch dancing

came back, and Will disappeared to search

 

for his dancing shoes. Myra is sobbing

in a dusty museum, a dodo eyeing her

balefully. In her personal hovercraft

 

Jeanine crosses sandbanks and rubble. She

cruises wastewoods where wind empties trees.

2 comments on ““My Lost Generation”

  1. Pingback: Day Twenty-Nine

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