Apologia by Kathrine Varnes
Oh God, you’re not another one of those June/
Moon poets, are you? (She was hip.) The stress
on my end of the conversation? Moon/
June, I said. But no, I’d not used them. Obsess
about it, if you must. Call me a snake.
Maybe I wriggled and hissed. The point is moot.
Say, yes, I might as well say: Let them eat cake.
The remainder of the dialogue: a beaut.
Something about edginess and glamour, Garbo
gone poetics, a freewheeling play
of signifiers. Sonnets? Passé as a hobo.
Oh. I said, I’ve written a few in my day.
Sure, she said, but do you still wear rhinestone
studded ditto jeans? Jean Naté cologne?
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