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Poetry by Jennifer Stockdale 



© 2005 Jennifer Stockdale




Pink Tartan

You'd probably think that pink tartan
Was a gaudy, glaring patch of plaid
The pocket-sized essence of feminine culture
Mass-produced by sweatshop workers in NYC
And now available (for a limited time only)
For you, the eager consumer.

You'd probably think that pink tartan
Would be sported kilt-style
On a fleshy-legged, miniature, bobble-head Scot named Archie
Plastered grin and mandatory heart disease
From his greasy Scottish breakfasts
Complete with tiny plastic bag-pipes
And a garbled brogue
When you pull the string on his back.

You'd probably think that pink tartan
Might be printed on the labels of the cheapest whiskey
All the rage among the disgruntled
Loud-mouthed fourteen-year-olds talking trash
Atop the double-deckers smoking Luckies
Cruising the rainy Glasgow streets
Till the wee hours of the morning.

But you'd be wrong, pink tartan
Has been sweat-soaked and pounded by the elements
Drawing its character as ferocious as John Knox
From quarter inch divots and wads of congealed saliva
Spat from the mouths of track runners
As they circle the silver-railed oval
And don't realize the cushion

They are given.







All work is property of Jennifer Stockdale.




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