“Oh Mother Millett, give me
A sign,” is her mantra.
But it’s damned hard to hear anything when
Papa Hemingway is in your face.
She’s got a swagger that rivals John
Wayne but she cries about her hairy
Legs. Oh kiddo, no one’s concerned
About your willowy legs or your love
For the girls.
She smiles slyly and says: “Cooool.”
But it might as well be awe and childlike
Wonder that makes her grin. I told her
Repeatedly to go Reckless into that Good
The Jewish girl’s eyes widen and tell
Me I’m crazy. Well
I’m in good company.
I’m over it, says she, the tall drink of water who
Thumbs her nose jewelry.
“I’m going to need the keys to your car,
Papa. I’ve got a tree farm to head to.”
Way to be Gentle, Miss Wayne.