The Five Paragraph Essay - Leonora Smith
A five paragraph essay
reminds me of a blind date
with an ex-seminarian-
that long opening paragraph
of boring foreplay,
then the thesis: one, sterile,
over-emphatic thrust
not...awful, just...wearying.
And it goes on
with its three, dull interminable reasons
why I should take off my clothes,
each with its own turgid point:
he bought me steak, God said so,
we might die young,
His right hand, with its chilly fingers
trying to snake up my skirt,
the left fumbling - inept, but unrelenting-
trying to unhook my brassiere,
the strange medicinal smell
of his hard lipped kisses.
Each topic sentence with its own-
not very persuasive-support:
whispers that I'd love it,
grow huge breasts, be cured
of acne (I guess his scent-it's Clearasil)
Until, desperate,
approaching my curfew
or the end of the assigned 250 words,
he protrudes what he feels to be
his strongest argument into my ear
with his tongue-if I don't "do it"
his "things" will turn blue.
Not one real reason,
not one thing to remind me
why it's called "the body."
Then, the windows all fogged up,
and me wanting anything but this-
to read the comics, chew gum, nap-
we have to do the whole first part
all over again
because it's required that you have a conclusion-
a sad replay I am already forgetting
as the naugahyde scree-screes
under my garters
as I stare at the movement of my own shadow
in the foggy glass:
nothing worth remembering
nothing written here
worth taking home from school.