Linda Rosenkrans on the Other Side of the
La Amapola Mexicana Blanca
the next time
you look into your
toothpaste spattered mirror
study the dark circles
under your eyes
they
are me
lifeless shadows
reflecting
pain
sorrow
and grief
don’t try to cover
me
up with
shame-based concealer
it won’t work
you know
i’m just beneath
your skin’s
d
e
e
p
surface
and when you go
to itch your scalp
that’s me
the uncomfortable itch
your brittle nails can’t
scratch away
and when you go to
blow
your trumpet
after
a predawn
train---track---trail---toot---
think of me
as
the expensive snot
you discarded
into a cheap
powder-puffed kleenex
and threw away
you may have ditched me for
la amapola mexicana blanca
but don’t think
you can simply
apply
white out
to blot
my ink away
i’m everywhere
you’ll never get away from me
i’m
in the save-on osco’s drug store
you steal your
bobby pins from
i’m in the ralphs supermarket
you lift your
brillo pads from
i’m in the 7-11
you snag
your extra long
cranberry juice colored
fluid lighters from
i’m the
half lit
marboro light
you whole heartedly
smoke when you’re frustraited
i’m the liquor store guy
down the street that
you smile and wink at
to get your
six pack
24oz. beer specials from
i’m
on the drunken bus
i’m in the
thirsty roses
hunched over
on your front porch
i’m in the taco bell drive-threw
you order your
chalupa supreme and
nachos bell grande
i’m in the
“two large domino’s pizza’s, for one special”
you devour after your three day famine
i’m in the
boring
ranch dressing
you dip
your spicy
adrenaline- rushed
buffalo wings through
i’m
in your
bud lite
soaked
bed sheets
i’m
in your frigid
chocolate
brown
italian leather couch
i’m
in your furious coffee grounds
i’m
in your enraged
dirty
laundry
i’m
in your incorrigible
moldy shower
i’m
in your
second-hand
toothbrush
i’m
in your
year old
razor blade
i’m
in your
stupid keys
you can’t find
i’m
in your
injured
sunglasses
i’m in the blond
long haired girl
you thought was me
from the back
i’m in your
new-fangled
cell phone
that rings
a connection
but you know it’s not me
it will
never
be me
i’m on your
answering machine
with no message
just remember
it was you
that chose
la amapola
mexicana blanca
over
me
and now
all
you will ever
have is
the ghost of
mi color de rosa hermoso se levantó
to haunt you for
the rest of your life.
© Copyright Linda Rosenkrans 2006