Poetry of Nancy Allan
Don’t Ask Me
I’ll never precede the bride again down
That long church aisle. Dressed in a magenta gown,
Fashioned from a sickly faille.
I’ll never don a gown again with scallops
And I do abort all picture hats and walks
Beside a man too short.
Cross off lilac, lime, cerise, all complete
With matching glove. My shoes will not be
Dyed to match. No! None of the above.
So when she throws that big bouquet, the roses
Dyed a brilliant blur. I’ll rush to catch that
Mutant clutch, so I can do it all to her.
Kite Tale
I tie my troubles to a kite
and watch ’til they are out of sight.
A litany of slights and hurts,
tied to a kite that dips and flirts
with trees and clouds and a telephone
wire, stopping to chat with an old church spire.
Resting its head on a grand blue sky,
it suddenly begins to fly, its tail a speck
from down below. I open my hand and let it go.
That’s Cats
A cat I know named Mistletoe
gets kisses every day. And a
hug and a pat and things like
that when he gets in the way.
This lucky cat grows sleek and
fat and daydreams in the sun.
Patting a beam and eating ice
cream and loved by everyone.
He gets those kisses ’cause of
his name, I’ve heard some people say.
But a cat I know named Rambo Joe
Gets kissed 10 times a day.
Nancy Allan is a retired news editor and reporter for the former Greenfield Observer in Wisconsin. Besides poetry, she writes fiction and nonfiction, including articles for a small quarterly newspaper that serves the condominium complex where she lives in Greenfield. (See her essay, ‘Hats, Anyone,’ in our nonfiction section.)