Wendy Taylor Carlisle
Under Pressure, I Ponder 2001
Hitching toward Bethlehem,
we loved our own unruly hair—
pubic fuzz at ten,
ears, nose, nipples much later.
A church changes when the choir gets robes.
My successful friends email for suits,
food, European cars, forward
a chain letter promising my wish fulfilled
if I “send this to ten other people.”
I read down to the fold
because that’s all I need to know,
and move on
to the millennial hinge.
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