ManicDDaily

Straw Drew

Dear Nancy,
I could never be
your twin–no Bobbseys, we.
My dad simply would not be
a town-leading attorney,
nor, however loving,
would he ever give me
a convertible.
I did have blonde hair
but it would not curl under.

Still there wasn’t much
that could tear us asunder,
for a time there
in the basement under
your yellow covers
where owls could be seen
to who
and clocks
to hickory,
where Mylai was maybe some weird cocktail
that you would never drink,
where everyone but the bad guys
were good yet you
were always gooder
but in a good way, meaning
with lipstick

and I was allowed in,
as unseen onlooker
sort of like when, snooping, you hid in a closet,
but not.

******************

Drafty poem for Magaly Guererro’s prompt on Real Toads to write to a book.  This to the Nancy Drew mysteries by Carolyn Keene. It feels rather trivial in the face of all going on in the Caribbean and Florida, still here it is–

Drawing is mine–all rights reserved.  k.