CINDERELLA
Every day a
dollar
Makes me
feel like the prince
In
Cinderella.
Yes, I’ve
gone out
With
working-class women
Whom I found
attractive,
And though
I’m poor
And have
been poor
All my life,
I often
think myself
From
royalty—I even
Have a royal
pseudonym
I write
under from time to time.
Once I was
drinking in a bar
And a naked
woman entered it.
I fell
instantly in love
With her and
thoughts of marriage
Even
absorbed my mind,
And I went
home to get her a shirt
And a pair
of pants, and told her
To wait in
the phone booth.
When I came
back,
She was
gone.
Cinderellas
leave my life
All the
time,
But I go on
Feeling like
a prince,
Part Machiavellian,
Part little
prince,
And always
the prince in Cinderella
Looking for
a princess
With the
perfect fit.
DECISION
The window
comprises
Three
horizontal bars,
Equally
placed
That run
three or four feet wide,
And a
foot-and-a-half tall.
I can see
outside
Though I
don’t think
People can
see in.
I’m in a
flea-bag hotel
With no more
money
To rent a
room for the week.
I’ll have to
commit
A crime in
broad daylight
In front of
a crowd of people,
So I
definitely get caught
And sent to
jail
Where I
won’t need money
For a room
or worry about
Where my
next meal
Is coming
from
For a good
while.
Truth and
falsehood
Are in my
poems.
I’ll let you
decide
What is true
or false,
Prose or
poetry,
Since the
disparate parts
Of this poem
crystallize,
And are
supposed to awaken
You into an
aesthetic satori
Of
realization embodied
In a
fleeting sigh, or a drop
Of poop on
your head,
And ah-ah at
the perfect
Fruition of
alum formed
In
grade-school science,
Which you
have saved.
Michael La Bombarda is a poet and fiction writer. He is retired and lives in New York City. He has published in Publlic Illumination Magazine, Danse Macabre, Yellow Chair, Kiss My Poetry, Oddball Magazine, and First Literary Review East, and the Landmark, and has two books of poetry published, Steady Hands and A Lover’s Complaint, both with Chez Michel Press,his own press.
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