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Denmark (or On the Death of John Updike)


by Yasmin Elaine Waring


I was only twelve when Johnny Updike had his way with me.
Reading Couples secretly,
piano lessons through,
even then I knew
Denmark was rotting in the pocket of Connecticut.

Sifting through pretty decay,
I lay hands on the sticky thoughts of the academic prince
catch hold of his reason
peel its thick skin and carve bitter words
:
buying black babies
does not guarantee redemption.

Much as he tries to bathe clean in white sand
he is still haunted by the slap of bare feet in the A&P
and the false promise of tight denim will, ultimately, undo him.

Solace will not be rushed
but comes at last,  extending its welcome
as he greets
the poisoned tip.


                                                                                                                       2/2/11


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