for Megan Sarah Wyeth
after Sylvia Plath

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I leave unseen, I leave with joy
That electric fence neon-signed
Barring your life against our toys,
Twenty-one years of growing up cold;
Thanks again for the show.

Mommy, I'll write you from prison,
Locked up for taking pictures
Of you stark naked in person;
Twenty-one snaps too many to count,
The papers were paying a hefty amount.

I thought I saw you on Rodeo drive,
But alas my camera ain't good,
So I caught you on TV while I fly
In a lipstick commercial scantily clad,
Looking very aristocrat.

You were out having some fun,
When I thought of using a gun;
Cock, stop, load, and trigger,
The image of heaven the fire of hell.
That shot was fucking LOUD.

Hollywood hills of cemetery doom,
Where those movies are shown
Every other Sunday afternoon,
Of the mommy substitute teacher
Who doesn't--like you--leave me alone.

You didn't want me in the front of the car;
Cuz Marky Mark was driving you to rest in bed.
Finis to My Life as a Communist premiere,
So I took out my camera to get your sneer,
But you didn't want me infront of the car.

Snap, snap of A Star Is Born
Or the new action thriller, you singing a song
In a poster, live with Jimmy Kimmel,
Waving to the crowd and Mr. Marky Mark.
"No, no, not in the back of the car."

I sit on the curb side,
Rejected but alive.
No dinner, no food, a penthouse for a home,
Gotta wait to see you in the DVD of
Kill Bill Volume Five.

I have always adored you, my love,
Your shiny earrings, your tiny stuff.
On the Town, you in a tight Armani gown;
House Party, you come and go in a frock.
Your gaze gives off glitzy, glamorous, glimmering gleams.

They would Texas Chainsaw Massacre you
To devour your flesh;
You Million Dollar Mermaid, you,
Stripped bare by her bachelors, even.
They follow you, they copy you, they love you--so do I.

Untimely ripped from your womb I am,
Born black from your white stomach,
A third class citizen to Uncle Sam,
Unwanted refuse ripe for cheap labor,
While master Simon seduces my Emmeline.

One look at me, and you shudder,
"What will I do with a yellow son?"
A yellow girl would marry a white man,
But a yellow man is just his biggest fan.
Change we can believe in--yes we can!

No we can't, no we can't.
No stopping the army of droid Coppelias
Flowing over the red carpet
The women come and go talking of the Oscars,
And you at its head, standing away from us.

You sucked my life juice out like a lemon,
Then tossed me away among the film scraps.
"You're eighteen and yellow, time to go on alone."
Back you go to your coterie from way back,
But me your son, I'm not human.

You taught me not to say sorry,
And join it like all else, not fight it.
But me my pen can't help but write
The review by a critic who has seen it,
The one that destroys your career.

I know my lifegiver can't stand me,
She's gone out of her way to feed me
To the dogs, and conceive another son,
One more like one of her own, a clone.

Mommy you lying bitch goddess,
leave me alone.