[ Oyster Boy Review ]

Shelley Laughery Scholl



Surround yourself with sanity,
padded walls for the hyperactive child,
to protect yourself from the monster
of genius.
Secret your wildness
behind a plain brown wrapper,
and it seeps through your pores,
sometimes overthrows your mind's pilot,
crashing you into forced laughter
and hasty apologies
for spilling wine,
consuming excessively,
talking with your mouth full.


Hairspray-laden sweat beads slide down
through porcelain beige foundation
as Cinderella diligently pumps
the Stairmaster pedals
with glass-slippered feet
and worries about her tuna casserole.


Contemporary sleeper sofa: Scotch-guarded, seafoam green.
Remote-control conglomerate: TV, stereo, VCR.
Kadinsky prints: Improvisation 31 (Sea Battle),
Composition #238, Bright Circle and Two Ovals 1919.
Chip clip, nonstick frying pan, handle tie trash bags,
easy-to-assemble entertainment center with authentic
whitewashed oak finish, coffee-table literature,
90-day warranties, Sunday paper coupon flyers,
refrigerator magnets, obligatory sides of the bed.


I ignore you,
hoping to avoid
becoming victimized
by the passive voice,
as we fold up over ourselves,
protective quadrangles
of smallness.

[ Contents | Contributor Notes ]