December 2020
Bio Note: During the many years I practiced law in NY and NJ the most poetic writing I ran
across was in an accusatory brief that stated "The plaintiff's argument holds no fruit". Soon after digesting
that wisdom I retired and traded legal writing for poetry. I have a second book coming out in February (Finishing
Line Press), and a bunch of publishing credits. I live and write poetry on both coasts and hang out with poets.
The Last Catcall
Passing a construction site,
a cluster of hard hats
on 87th and West End,
my tight jeans and high-heeled boots
press against a body sore
from a life of demands,
Loud whistles and catcalls
interrupt mundane thoughts
my head swivels,
but no one else is in sight.
Like Frost's little horse of snowy woods
I stop and wonder if these tough guys
notice my 60s feminist confusion.
I must remember this, I think grinning,
unlike so many Firsts ceremonially enshrined
there is also a Last usually missed.
Woke Aubade
Sleepless,
flip the light on
grab a poem from
an aging New Yorker.
Read and re-read.
It’s clearly important
possibly life changing,
not sure why, dozing off.
Dreaming,
the poem appears
stark naked, seductive,
until sunlight oozes
through the shutters
which is when relieved
I welcome the new day,
make the bed, tidy up,
bury the New Yorker deep
in the stack, move on knowing
that even in broad daylight
that poem and I would never
make it to happily ever after.
©2020 Anita Pulier
Editor's Note: If this poem(s) moves you please consider writing to the
author (email address above) to tell him or her. You might say what it is about the poem that moves you. Writing to the author is the beginning of community at Verse Virtual.
It is very important. -JL