Jane Freilicher's mother overheard
the fashion copywriter's lament,
"I need the fucking long vowel sound rules
and how to pronounce Chartres
in New Orleans. Is the moss that grows
on live oak trees a critic or a fan?
Should I stick to catalogs with pictures,
or deglaze, cutting wheels for windows?
Everybody's looking for [expurgated]
with no pants on or details about
Kurt Cobain's finger injury and
I just don't have the goods."
The wise woman replied, "Dear, think
of Delmore Schwartz in Ronkonkoma.
He knew jalapenos raise metabolism
and all about gangsta hairstyles.
His mental weather hummed
with the frequency of spring
and funny bitches rimes. He could
analyze the plaid dress of Edna
St. Vincent Millay and shoot photos
of butter and lard. There was no other
like him, an artist in relation to his game."
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