I’ve asked for ideas for poems before, but this last ask inspired a hell of a lot more responses than usual. I decided, no matter how silly they seem, that I would try to tackle every idea that was given to me over the course of this week (maybe two). So here is Part 1. The title of each poem will be shown as it was written on Facebook. And beneath it the first name and last initial of whoever presented it.
Rhode Island is neither a rhode nor an island
David B.
Rhode Island is not an island at all,
but a place I traveled once,
stopped at a beach
you happened to know
and jumped in the air, with one hand holding
a cowboy hat,
ponytail swinging,
mouth agape at the wonder of jumping.
I had red hair then,
the color of unripened cherries,
a time when I thought
the color of my hair could distract one girl
from the thought of another
hundreds of miles away
who had kissed lips I had kissed
one floor up
from the bed I crawled into
waiting for him to join me.
It started then.
It followed me to Boston,
to Rhode Island,
to anywhere.
And when I finally found out the whole truth:
I dyed my hair back to blonde,
the female equivalent,
of closure.
Why do we park on the driveway and drive on the parkway?
Dave G.
In
Los
Angeles
I’ve
heard
sometimes
you
park
on
the
parkway.