Experienced Woman’s Song
It’s time I get a little more
blanket, banana, rest when the rest
of the house is stirring.
It’s time like lunchtime,
the stop watch clicking
at the finish line that I get a little more
whatever
dessert, darning, double pistachio
turn on the radio without requests
for stations, without wanting
to turn off the radio as the DJ
says, You’re gonna love this new song
but I’m not
a friend of his, not thirteen,
and I’m not gonna love the song
or poet because she’s beautiful and talks
about sex, because I’ve heard that story
at breakfast, in the locker room,
on the treadmill next to me the woman said
she cut out on her family for a rugged
barista and I thought only in Seattle
are baristas the new rockstars,
and rockstars the new husbands
and I’ve leaned against the Jimi Hendrix
statue and no one asked my age,
though a stranger asked me if I had money
and I said, Yes but it’s time I get a little more
and he understood that, said,
If I had a blanket I would give it to you,
and I leaned against Jimi and realized
how often I fail.
