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      January 7, 2012It Would TakeRichard Donnelly

      it would take a long time for me to love
      you
      I would see you thrown from that office and then
      you would have to get a job a real
      job a low job
      something physical
      something that broke your nails if not
      your will
      no more coffee from the company china your
      famous red lipstick
      on your famous white cup
      I’d see you drink from styrofoam
      like the rest of us
      I’d strip you of your friends
      you can stay in a cheap apartment for once
      throw away your high heels no
      keep those
      and when you call me I can be very cruel I won’t
      make promises
      I’ll think about it
      because it’s going to take time
      you’re going to have to stop shaving your body
      wash with plain soap
      give up on the salon and the streaks
      and blond highlights
      and if there’s grey good
      good
      because I want you to suffer no that’s not
      it
      I want the opposite I want you to finally become
      yourself you said you want to
      feel I’ll show you how to feel
      but first meet me halfway
      meet me at the Powderhorn Park Library in South
      Minneapolis and keep
      your voice down
      there are real people here
      wear a scarf an old coat and come over here
      between the shelves
      where we can see the street
      at night and the snow just begun to fall
      put your arms around me
      I’ll show you how to feel but first you must feel
      yourself
      first yourself and then me

      from #37 - Summer 2012

      Richard Donnelly

      “I write poems for the pleasure it gives me. And hopefully, the pleasure it might give the reader. When I finish a poem it’s like finishing a cold martini, up, with a single olive. There’s a little kick, a feeling of expansiveness, of pleasure. I can do this all night, one after the other. Writing poems, that is. With martinis, it’s wise to stop at one.”