Lady Aberline likes Jazz
You're not putting your hand up my dress.
Yes, I will build schools, figure puzzles and talk to animals-
but I am not open for your imagination.
Kin to puppets with weekday names, I shimmy
through life with a boring bun and blue jean jumper.
I crush the track with my bowed Sam and Libby's,
I can't work in the factory or
preside over the museum with ruddy cheeks--
but Handy Man Negri and I have our fun
in jazz clubs far from Make Believe Land.
The smoke thick rooms fill my hair as Negril
wails on the lost dings of the trolley that
makes it all real. Thinking on the delivery of
the day-the only human contact through the wall
and the change of the sweater vest leaves me trapped
unable to taste the flakes of real life slipping away.
I'm known for this because it is my name.
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