ODOP: Kathleen

They called her loud: it was how she dressed,
In silver catsuits, neon things, and shirts like handkerchiefs.
And it was how her voice rang: she would call
For her friends a stocked block off, and taxis never failed her.
Rambling messages broke into bad song
Til you answered, and knocking down doors was her delight.
She was the New Yorkiest kind of New Yorker, who had been
Cramped daydreaming in a smaller city, saving with tenderness
For the Greyhound she barreled in on at about nineteen, carelessly
Thriving on stresses and messes.

Retail therapy didn’t cure, and perhaps aggravated.
How long and dragging it took! She tried
To make sickness a Bonjovi concert, and half succeeded.
Now some visit her with alacrity –
A sorry few – and invariably find that others
Now do her noise for her, rolling trays pushed
Clack-clack-clack across the tiles down those conventional white
Halls by nurses who hail another with unabashed accents;
She herself though amongst the bustle and clamor sits large-eyed,
About as loud as a cloud.

Copyright 2010 Jobey George



  1. Lelo said

    Lelo likes! the last line especially.

  2. An old one I dredged up and dusted off when I realized I was running out of time that day. Do you know I’ve lost my remaining prompt poems? Have cleaned through all the papers in the apt and I believe I’ve thrown them out. I’m missing the “How could anything go wrong?” poem the most.

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