Madeline Kennedy

tuesday

Isn’t it just so shameful
to be wrapped in skin just so,
to stand, to kneel, to clench
your jaw
in the morning (so humid, so dark)

And what am I to make of your
precious status symbols
When my shoulders are hunched,
my teeth are stained
with coffee, with wine,
with spite

A cubicle is a nice place
to vacation from your dreams
If only for the summer
If only in the morning
after stormy monday nights

And isn’t it so pretty
to live under this regime
where noon is bitter
and I spend every midnight
knees on the bathroom floor
praying

Madeline Kennedy is a writer, architectural designer, and artist. She was born and raised in Sterling, Virginia, and received her B. Arch degree from Virginia Tech. Madeline currently lives in Richmond, Virginia with two horrible cats.

Madeline wrote the following about her poem:

Years ago, a cab driver told me that the world would seem very dark if I ever stopped creating art. These days I work an office job and my cubicle sits in the dim centre of the bullpen. I wrote this poem on a cold winter evening.  I think of that cab driver quite often. Naturally, this poem is for him.