Barabara Makes Her Debut

Barbara Makes Her Debut

Every human skin here dusted with luminescent snow;
The staged ballroom so taut, tight
With white, as so many spathes of the calla lily.
If any being black, or brown, or red should make an appearance, Barb would be rabid.
She is completely ignorant to the fact those in her contrived court
Are manifestly destined to be
Terminally middle-class;
Equipped only to be carrying the trains
Of others predestined to land up
Right into the folds of purple robes fringed with ermine,
All her failing aspirations simply lead to attempts to surround herself
With Anglican ... royal ... courtly couples.

It seems I've been sitting here far too long for, ever
Have I sat as the contemplative audience, questioning the ways in which Barb will brush
Past the primary colors in life. Then,
I attempt to understand her need to be with those of flaxen hair,
Her seemingly artless reasoning; the logic of her forever
Having to see to it that the props in the theater of her life are painted
To her transparent standards.
Man, referred to by her only as Him,
Be he black, or brown, or red, is never seen as human,
Or even part of nature yet,
Somehow, in some way,
She sees Him as kindred.

Man is a being with his mind to the hone, then so sharpened
As to penetrate that part of her mind that seems to me so entirely small.