August 27: Long-Ass Day, Julianna Baggott, "Blurbs"

Sorry, guys, I'm way too tired to get philosophical about Charlotte's Web or E. B. White.  I started work at the medical office at 6 a.m., taught from 3 p.m. to 4:40 p.m., and then taught again from 6 p.m. to 9:20 p.m.  I'm lucky I can string words together into a sentence.

However, I did have a Julianna Baggott poem picked out for today.  It's called "Blurbs," and, for almost any person who writes for publication, it's funny as hell.

That's all Saint Marty has tonight.  An excuse and a poem.

Blurbs

by:  Julianna Baggott

I don't want to be a national treasure,
too old-codgery, something wheeled out
of a closet to cut ribbon.  I prefer
resident genius, or for the genius
to be at least undeniable.
I'd like to steer away from the declaration
by far her best.  Too easily I read,
the predecessors were weary immigrant stock.
The same goes for working at the height
of her powers, as if it's obvious
I'm teetering on the edge of senility.
I don't want to have to look things up:
lapidary style?  I'd prefer not to be a talent;
as if my mother has dressed me
in a spangled leotard, tap shoes,
my hair in Bo-Peep pin curls.
But I like sexy, even if unearned.
I like elegance, bite.  I want someone
to confess they've fallen in love with me
and another to say, No, she's mine.
And a third to just come out with it:
she will go directly to heaven.

Go blurb yourself!