WHEN HE, THE SLUT, STRIPPED NUDE FOR THE CROWD
HE CRIED OUT, “MARRY ME, MARRY ME”
TO NO ONE IN PARTICULAR.
LATER THAT NIGHT ON TV AFTER HE SAW HER
AFTER HE SAW BEYONCE SING OF SINGLE LADIES,
THAT NIGHT LIKE ANY FLAMING MAN, LIKE ANY BURNING MAN
WHO YEARNED TO WEAR A WEDDING DRESS
HE LOOKED IN THE MIRROR AND SANG NOT CRIED
WHILE DRAPING HIMSELF WITH THE WHITE TABLECLOTH ON HIS KITCHEN TABLE.
Ashok Rajamani is a writer and artist in New York City. He is a member of the Authors Guild, New York Writers Coalition, and South Asian Journalists Association. His poetry and prose have been published in numerous outlets, including South Asian Review, Catamaran Literary Journal, and 3:AM Magazine. Ashok's memoir, BRAIN KARMA, will be published by Algonquin Books in 2011. For more info, please go to: www.ashokrajamani.com.
perfect work. got here from link on ashok site. this is a superb poem – tells a story of desperation without being mawkish
I really enjoyed this poem. It's quite funny.
reminds me of when i was little and used my a bed sheet and made it a sari lol
FABULOUS! EVERY MAN SHOULD GET TO BE A BRIDE AT LEAST ONCE!