Marge Piercy Poems
|2.||The Secretary Chant||5/13/2015|
|3.||The cup of Eliyahu||12/1/2015|
|4.||The Birthday Of The World||3/17/2015|
|5.||Visiting A Dead Man On A Summer Day||1/3/2003|
|8.||To The Pay Toilet||1/20/2003|
|9.||The Morning Half-Life Blues||1/1/2004|
|12.||Implications Of One Plus One||1/3/2003|
|14.||The Cat's Song||1/3/2003|
|15.||Attack Of The Squash People||1/3/2003|
|17.||The Woman In The Ordinary||1/3/2003|
|18.||My Mother's Body||1/3/2003|
|20.||For The Young Who Want To||1/3/2003|
|21.||Colors Passing Through Us||1/3/2003|
|22.||What Are Big Girls Made Of?||1/3/2003|
|23.||To Be Of Use||1/3/2003|
|24.||A Work Of Artifice||1/3/2003|
This girlchild was born as usual
and presented dolls that did pee-pee
and miniature GE stoves and irons
and wee lipsticks the color of cherry candy.
Then in the magic of puberty, a classmate said:
You have a great big nose and fat legs.
She was healthy, tested intelligent,
possessed strong arms and back,
abundant sexual drive and manual dexterity.
She went to and fro apologizing.
Everyone saw a fat nose on thick legs.
She was advised to play coy,
exhorted to come on hearty,
exercise, diet, smile and wheedle.
Her good nature wore out
To The Pay Toilet
You strop my anger, especially
when I find you in restaurant or bar
and pay for the same liquid, coming and going.
In bus depots and airports and turnpike plazas
some woman is dragging in with three kids hung off her
shrieking their simple urgency like gulls.
She's supposed to pay for each of them
and the privilege of not dirtying the corporate floor.
Sometimes a woman in a uniform's on duty