A Poet's Place

at fifty

by Maurine S. Taylor

it's an acquired taste
this life
and I make no apologies
for it
or the bologna, potato chip
on Wonder bread smothered
with mayo sandwich
of my childhood
and sometimes still

I'm no longer concerned
with breathing in iambic pentameter
just breathing
my face flush with pleasure
after having just made love
twice in one morning
will I love you forever?
the point is I love you right now

I set my watch by the truth
that every afternoon between
five and six I will pass first
the woman on the corner lot
spreading birdseed on her fence
and then a mile down the road
her neighbor chipping golf balls
across his yard into
an ever growing pile of white

they have chosen to fill their minutes
with what makes them happy
I choose to fill mine the same

it's an acquired taste
this life
and I make no apologies
for it

mannequin

by Maurine S. Taylor

can I put you on
assume your being
slip into your face
must I content myself
window shopping
nose pressed against
the glass (blowing hot
breath on the cold pane
between us) watching
it disappear like night
dreams in early morn