GUEST POET: MAXINE DALEY
WISHES
I wish I lived in a bony little house
a patchwork of found wood
long settled in the sand
a half-hidden ark
and pointing out to sea
a porch.
Each year the whole place given
a coat of white deck paint
rolled on by me.
I wish I could pull out my
curried and scented magazines
(made by clued-in NYC lady editors
back home just now from Comme des Garcons
wearing Ray Charles shades
and black widow's weeds
talking ("citrus, citrus, citrus
for Spring")
from a chipped metal mailbox
shaped like a loaf of bread
that said U.S. Post on it
and meant business.
I wish I could re-read your
fidgety little notes
and open up flyers filled
with cents-off coupons
and stern catalogues from Maine
advising flannel
while lying on my green and yellow
striped vinyl swing
with my worn-down clogs
dangling from my toes.
every so often staring out
at the state of the tide
and the green waves
with their curly celluloid crests.
I wish I lived on a planet
accustomed to the limelight.
I wish I could set up light
housekeeping in the little
finger of your glove.
Maxine Daley
8:31:47 AM 
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