“Shelf Life Of A Valentine” by M. C. Lubow



What is the shelf life of a valentine second wife?
I’m about to find out after 24 years of my life.
Will I be sufficiently reserved, sufficiently preserved,
sufficiently assured
to go back into the super market
for the salad bar, of round number three?

What is the shelf life of a valentine first wife?
After 25 years of joy and strife,
I know the answer to that one.
With Numero Uno, I had three blue eyed sons.

Where I live, the state I live in,
ten, just ten, only ten years marks a long marriage.
It’s the law, baby…

Well, then, Mom & Dad in the sky with the glimmer
of the big and little dipper
and with Orion’s sparkling starry belt,
no need to cry that  your first born baby is less than.
Not a failure, or two time loser, after all.
Should I wear the diamond as proof
of your little girl’s success? Am I a mess…no or yes?

My story may be boring…
But how can I be labeled failure
when I have two, yes two, count that:
two 20 year marriages
to draw from
with my whimsical  writer’s wand?

Mom, Dad, toss me two gold stars
for my good behavior chart
and a Valentine prayer.
Let’s pray that numero tres will be the charm.
I’ll  no longer be candy on El Segundo’s arm.

M. C. Lubow

L. K. Thayer’s Foto Fetish

© 2011

“Black Ink” by M. C. Lubow



I am out of black ink,
so this page is full of white space
I should be feeling free, rosy pink
Instead I lack a sense of place

on Thursday he yelled
“Get out, get out, get out…”

I surprised myself and said
“This home is mine,
As much as yours.
I’ve lived here eleven years with you”

Let him put that in his ivory white pipe
And dark smoke it.
Second hand smoke swirls around me.
But I am no longer second hand Rose.

Now that  I am full of life again
No longer Stepford wife
He wants to put me out
like his last cigarette.

M. C. Lubow

L. K. Thayer’s Foto Fetish

© 2011

Tina Fey, May I Please Wear My Special Blue Dress One More Time? by M.C. Lubow


Tina Fey wore my dress, the royal blue one.
Tina Fey wore my dress, the soft silk feminine one.
Tina Fey wore my  dress, my dreamy favorite party dress.
Tina Fey wore my lovely, small waisted dress.
Tina Fey wore my Grecian goddess dress…all over L.A..

No one had to tell me they saw her in my special dress.
If you lived here, or visited here, last year,
you would have seen Tina in my dress to die for.
Wherever I went, there she was…in my special dress of blue.
She was appearing in my romantic dress all over town.

That’s what may happen, if you part with your favorite dress.
It may show up without you, in places you never dreamed of.
Oh, oh, oh, that royal blue, soft silk feminine dress, with its Grecian drape
and my once tiny waist… I floated like a Chagall gal, in small town, USA.

How did my favorite dress make it into the big time?  It’s a mystery to me.
Oh my, oh dear, oh suck it up, I should never have parted with it, it’s clear.
Tina did not do it the justice it deserved, even if she wore it on the big billboards,
and the big screen. I admit my dress did look good on her,
but not as good as it looked on me.

It was not supposed to be a Hollywood actress dress.
If I ever see Tina, I will ask if she’ll regift it to me. I will take better care of it,
not let it get in a fight. It needs to be protected, just like I do.
Tina may say I’m an Indian giver, and maybe I am.
I just need to dance in it once more in the movie of my life.

M. C. Lubow

© 2011

“Take My Heart” by M. C. Lubow

I wish to be a woman in a Chagall painting
Floating in the air, dreaming
Of flowers, magic moments and beaming

I wish he would Chagall me, greet my breasts
As Chagall did when he met an art collector
I only know because she told me with zest

Instead I feel like Frida Kahlo has scooped
Me out… I am bleeding
Red and blue tears from my veins and aorta

My heart hangs out of my body
But my heart still beats with fervor
My heart beats for my imaginary lover

My heart may cry, but refuses to die
I am in mourning for what I thought I had
I am not always this sad
I am going to survive; I am alive

It is time to face the future with courage
With as much dignity as I can gather
It is a soulful matter

My heart will mend
This will not be the end of me
Or will it ?

M. C. Lubow

© 2010

Frida Kahlo

“Rebooting My System” by M. C. Lubow

My life has become so chaotic
because I am nervous and neurotic.
I am so neurotic, I think I need a tonic.
My spouse says I have attacks of panic.
I’d stop if he’d be more romantic.

To lessen stress, I exercise, exercise, exercise.
My pain and pangs, I want to excise…
my fingers on the pc keyboard,
my feet on the Wii Fit white board
I want to be free, I want to be me, Oh Lord.

I never thought I would be bored,
but I am bored. I am Emma Bovary bored.
I want to reboot my system. I want to delete my missives.
I no longer want to miss him.

While the world wide web, the world has shrunk,
there are still black and white polarized skunks.
My mind sees shades of gray. It has grown.
I prefer emails to being on the phone.

My voice gets stronger.
I want to live, live, live longer.
I want to dance in ballrooms.
I want to have time to groom.

Chapter three has opened me.
A new world is waiting.
I don’t want carbon dating
of me and my relics.

Stop the movers from crating
me and my favorite works of art.
I do not want to be boxed in.
I am not ready to depart.
I wish to live while I’m alive.

M. C. Lubow

L. K. Thayer’s Foto Fetish


“BAR CODE” by M. C. Lubow

I am unfamiliar with the bar scene..
I don’t know bar manners
Like if someone sends me a drink
Should I accept? What are the rules?
The code?  The bar code?
I wouldn’t want to offend a nice man,
who intends a conversation of ideas, imagination.
I might ignite on that sensation.

Then there is the matter
of the tall tall tall bar stools
I am too small to be a stool pigeon
Pigeons may carry diseases and
I am risk averse.

Then there is the matter
of what is in the glass
I don’t like to drink much
I don’t like the burning taste
I don’t like to lose my inhibitions
I don’t like to wag my tongue

I would rather wag my tail
than waste precious time slurping ale
But only with the right guy
who gives me a kind eye
The right one who is tender
who is not a one night stander

Then there is the matter
of standards. Am I being clear?
All that clear liquid in a clear glass
I don’t care if it’s apple or pink martini
It may relax some, but a few sips and swallows
distort my reality. I see fireworks in his eyes

It’s no surprise I get high on fruits of the season
I get high on colorful people. I get high on sounds
of words and birds. Am I clear? Have I provided
the reasons? No bar scene for me…I don’t know the code.
I can’t open the safe and safe is where I need to be.

M. C. Lubow

L. K. Thayer’s Foto Fetish

© 2010

“Portion Patrol” by M. C. Lubow

The spice of my life is exercising portion control
slicing our once twice weekly lunches
to 45 minutes once a quarter.

I tried to find him entertaining, but in fact
I was the one remaining in the booth
with seats of leather
while he beckoned her heather.

Yes, he wanted fruit and turkey.
The waitress said there was no fruit.
Undeterred, he asked for mayo and mustard
offered me half, half his sandwich, half his lunch.

While my muse was making eyes
at the waitress I now despise
for her slim, tall youth,
I was the one remaining in the booth

The waitress pranced about, danced up the aisle,
used her saber to lance my smile and
brought him plain old tacky French’s, a tacky yellow ordinary mustard
in a tacky yellow plastic squeezer.

My hunch is she’s every inch a teaser
She may not know the pleasure of Grey Poupon
But she knows what she’s attracting
like a bee to honey.

Once reserved for me, he gave
the mustard bearer his fanfare as if she presented
him with a rare tasty Dijon, as if I weren’t there
remaining in the booth of leather.

My former muse now her regular, a regular diner, a regular bee
For she smiled honeymustard as we departed
and said to him and not to me

Thanks for coming back and back and back to my hive

M. C. Lubow

Foto by L. K. Thayer

© 2010

“SPLIT ENDS” by M. C. Lubow


Oh, yes, I used to do splits,
so flexible was I
body of a gymnast, I was told
but my mind too needed exercise

Besides when Granpop saw me
do a split on the stage &
then when I lowered my head
to the hardwood floor,
he and everyone heard a CLOP,
he issued the edict
I was to stop…I minded.
he feared I hurt my head
He put an end to it

School of hard knocks…
Knock hard on hard wood, wood, wood
knock some sense into me
I try to put my marriage back
back together, back again

If I be flexible again, again & again
but see, it is not just up to me. He rigid.
Will it split, will we split,
Will it be split ends?

M. C. Lubow

© 2010

“The Corsage of Courage” by M.C. Lubow


It’s been a while since I wore a corsage.
How I loved the special feeling
that someone thought to honor me
with fragrant flowers.

Today I woke up crying.
Today I wear my courage
in a corsage on my chest.

I confront myself. I search within,
for multicolored petals of strength,
to face a Goliath, whose passion for deprivation,
seeks to conquer all my personal territory,
every inch of me.

Today I woke up crying.
Today I wear my corsage
of courage on my chest.

Shall I surrender yet again,
lacking resolve to stand on my own?
I enter my own garden at the home
I still love, because it is my shelter.
I diagramed all the sprinklers’ spray, observed
where holy water should be conserved.
I fired the gardener last week. He didn’t listen.

Today I woke up crying.
Today I wear my courage
in a corsage on my chest.

Am I listening to my own heartbeat,
or that of Goliath?
I tried to synchronize our rhythms
on Sunday,
but our breaths fall at different rates.

Today I woke up crying.
Today I wear my corsage
of courage on my chest.

M.C. Lubow

© 2010