So, I'm taking this poetry class...

Poetry is not my thing, I've decided. This semester I'm in a poetry class and most of the time I sit there, staring blankly, listening to everyone's intelligent responses to the works and feeling like all I've got is red roses and blue violets. The professor is one of my favorites, though. She is teaching me to appreciate the art. Despite my love-hate (mostly hate) relationship with poetry, I finally crafted a poem that I'm proud of. I think it's funny and honest and has a good voice. But let me know what you think...

P.S. Since poetry is always better when it's read aloud, read this one with gusto! (Every little bit helps.)

Woman Stoops A League, Or Two

by Heather D. Moline

He’s a good one by any reasonable woman’s standard.

His teeth are white

mostly

and only a little crooked with g a p s between the canines and incisors—

but surely nothing a little minor cosmetic tweaking can’t fix.

And he tells jokes. Good ones, even.

So good that he can entertain hisself,

laughing and spitting,

but only sometimes spitting on me.

He smooches fine.

Sort of soft or sweet or sticky-like.

I tell myself, be thankful—

you gots yourself a tame kind of man,

not a wild

kinky

lick your toes

kind of man that some women gots to handle.

And I suppose a smooch is nicer

than him jammin his tongue at my tonsils

like they’re his grape lollypop.

But sometimes I wish he’d plant a good one on me

like Patrick Dempsey or that Matthew what-his-name

in the movies

instead of smearing me with

them crooked teeth and fountain jokes

that are ‘posed to be just fine

by any reasonable woman’s standards.