XI
An outhouse year.
Someone I love rips rags for tampons.
Someone I love speaks less & less.
Is the sky
ever too pink
to suggest you're poor?
I am eleven—
having studied them
I introduce myself to Colonel Douglas R. and Jessica K. Smith
husband & wife
of Rockfords Golden Rule Market—
the Smiths of Asprey & Chanel
cashmere & city speech
of Beethoven's italicized wonderment
I know because I asked
of Black-chauffeured blue Cadillac
& 2 Doberman Pinschers
guarding their brick Federal Colonial.
I am hired.
To neaten & clean,
to stock & cashier—
sometimes I pump gas.
On calendar-circled Saturdays
I utter Eames, rattan, Picasso
bone china, commissary, sparkle, miso
lacquer, Andrew Wyeth, linseed oil
poached, Shakespeare, Melba toast
duvet, Summer's Eve, Harper Lee
salmon, invoice, Unleaded, Visa.
Slowly
I inch
my family away
from
government
milk & cheese.
Copyright Credit: Rodney Terich Leonard, "XI" from Sweetgum & Lightning. Copyright © 2021 by Rodney Terich Leonard. Reprinted by permission of Four Way Books, www.fourwaybooks.com.
Source: Sweetgum & Lightning (Four Way Books, 2021)