Every Day I Have the Blues

This is really, really rough. The rhyme was a big fat mistake. But…

Say hello to Molly Sunbright.
I’ll be your friend, like the host of a long-running game show.
I sing dance and paint, wearing red high-heeled shoes.
My home sparkles, fresh as a five-year-old’s rainbow,
And I wouldn’t dream of having the blues.

The blues turn yellows green, and make a mess of pink:
They’re all about confusion
And sweat, smoke, stink, and dim light
While I’m neat as a strawberry pincushion.
Say hello to Molly Sunbright.

I love the marble world, and the way it passes time
Without better or best, with no winning or losing.
I’m happy: clear skies, rain, diamond ice, blowing snow
Or dry summer days and sauna nights, top down cruising:
I’ll be your friend, like the host of a long-running game show.

I’m dependable as a calendar, familiar as Tuesday.
Order suits me to my pores and core,
But I’m not so enthused by those chancy, risky blues
That fit your skin like faded cotton. They’re a bore.
I sing dance and paint, wearing red high-heeled shoes.

The blues stand on the dance floor all alone, just swaying.
Stupid blues.
When they get home they don’t hang up their coat.
I work; I don’t do just the things I choose–
My home sparkles, fresh as a five-year-old’s rainbow

I’m Molly Sunbright
I’m cheerful, loyal, neat, in control.
All my preferences fit seamlessly; I don’t enthuse
And I don’t condem. I carefully fit my role.
And I wouldn’t dream of having the blues.


MONDAY PROMPT / February 7

Think about what’s getting you down. But not for too long! This week, we are going to cheer ourselves up. We are going to cure ourselves of the winter blues or cabin fever or heartache. That’s right! We are going to use poetry to cure ourselves (at least temporarily).If you are tired of cold weather, write a poem about the joy and gift of summer. If you are moping around about lost love, write a poem about true love or hot dates (which may be the same thing, but they don’t have to be!). If you need a job, write as though you have one. If you need money, allow yourself to win the lottery in your poem. Got a problem? Write the cure as though it’s already happened.

My first response to that:

Siren, rainbow joy does not beguile me.
I will not clown away my gloom.
Cheer, which fits you well,
becomes me ill, while my
good blue suit hangs, sagging
over you, a funeral tent, and drab.
Singer, if you must, be light and gay;
my comfort rests in blue and gray.

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15 comments

  1. Barb, you have conjured up some vivid, if not disturbing images.
    It reminded of a scene out of “Stepford Wives” or maybe a
    Doris Day movie.
    Excellent work.
    btw get better soon, you have been sick, too long.

  2. Worse mistakes could have been made; the rhymes whorl and come back in on themselves, which adds to the plastic happiness feel that I think I couldn’t stand in a person. Blues make a person interesting. But regardless of the blues your cold may be providing, I hope the coming spring brings improving…

  3. There is a sense of whimsy (love that word and feeling)

    I like what you’ve started here. Maybe a bit of time away and come back to revise?

    Anyhow, I like what I see here.

  4. I really like the rhymes b, especially some of the internal ones. And love the image of red high-heeled shoes and the five-year-old’s-rainbow. Lovely image of childhood, unlike the depressing one I had!

  5. If I am not mistaken, this is one happy housewife ready to explode, and not into rainbows and sparkles or song and dance. Instead, this is June Cleaver, ready to burn her apron and trash her pearls, to throw a red high-heeled shoe at the game show host on the TV – and then disappear into the night, while everyone around her says, “But she seemed so well-adjusted, so happy and …well, perfect.”

    It is not all as it seems.

    (Brava!)

  6. Fun and creepy at the same time. I can picture a stifled mad gaze in her eyes . . . and really like that second stanza especially. What would Robert Altman do with this character?

  7. Pingback: One of these days « The Gray Cat's Detour

  8. I usually feel that these molly-girls are hiding some sort of serial-killer weapon under their skirts.
    (but then again, I do watch too much “criminal intent…”)

    • That is without exception the scariest thing on TV. Well, maybe that funniest videos thing, that might be more chilling, but Criminal Intent will have you suspecting your own motives.

  9. She made me want to stick my finger down my throat. I know her, dammit, and never ever trusted her. But, lots of good imagery and your tone carries this one all the way through,

    Elizabeth


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