Sour Puss Press; Give It A Rest Or Minimalism Was Ever A Dead Doornail Poem by Mary Angela Douglas

it's impossible, on reflection, ever to say

clearly enough merrilly enough

how glad I am never to have been


featured by Sour Puss Press

which, if I were rich enough to buy it

would immediately be renamed by me


Lemon Tree Press. Then, Lemon Meringue.

There. Doesn't that sound better?

I imagine jawbreakers of the Christmas variety


lemon, lime, tangerine

the kind that last all day

the way a good poem should.


a good poem.

You know. The old neighborhood

with the lilacs over the fence.


don't wince.


It makes you feel good


when you read it, You need it.

or transported on a Christmas train.

Lord, they hate my Christmas train poetry.


Choo choo, I say

I'm coming through

with tinsel askew


and holly berries.

Make way.

Or getrun over by angels


chortling in bumper cars.

Haha. I don't care who you are.

I don't want to wear a black beret


a pencil skirt you can't even walk in.

and, oh dear, a turtleneck. industrial grey grey grey

I want to smile.


I can't help it. I can't keep it down.

my face is going to spill

like pink lady apples


all over town.


right in two

all creamery butter too

I fully intend to be


because I write with glee. wjth a quintillion adjectives.

scritch scratch.

you're not crossing out that.


not even for a prize,

your snazziest one with

a lifetime income


in pink bullion.


all heck with it, who cares.

about your market shares.

pushcart. smushcart.


and though it isn't politically wise

I'm so darn happy to be alive

singing the bluebirds out of the trees


making lemonade.

sugary as all get out.

swinging on a porch swing


in a rosy gown

with feet that don't touch the ground.

cloud bound. gold dust or bust


metaphor metaphor metaphor

image image image

frosting frosting frosting


extra icing on the side

multisequined for the bride.


ice cream sprinkles too.

on every poem

I bake for you.


mary angela douglas 26 april 2019