Born Too Late by Irene Cunningham

I woulda been a babe, a real dollface
hot mamma whose dish could sink ships to place
a sailor in my path…and he’d take me
to make whoopee, blow his horn and fill me
full of giggle-juice, thinking, What a dame!
No gold-digging on my mind just a swell
night to knacker the peepers in snazzy
style – time off rot-gut booze in beat clip-joints.
I woulda been a contender; aces
in this corner, sneaky keen to rise to
cool-cat; I’d be where it’s at – no kiss-off
for this looker. I’d be, Look at me Ma,
top of the world…Patsy done good so don’t
blow your wig ‘cause I’ll be home late tonight.

Irene Cunningham
Irene Cunningham has had many poems published in lit mags across the years, including London Review of Books (as Maggie York), New Welsh Review, New Writing Scotland, Stand, Iron, Writing Women, and others. Now she’s preparing for old age before the scythe lands. Her new blog, still a work in progress, is here:

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