I have fallen out of love with Barbie
the silicone injection bullet breasts
the vacant expression, the lifeless eyes.
I have fallen out of love with the heroin
chic, anorexic stick of marketing models
the vacant expression, the lifeless eyes.
I have fallen out of love with the bosomy
disproportionate selected by publishers
of my youth as if they were buying cattle.
There is a natural form as old as Willendorf
which persisted in art for most of our history.
Consider bending Aphrodite’s tummy roles.
Modernity demands we value the fake
plastic overlay of everything: our food,
doo dads all under impenetrable bubbles.
Natural beauty is occluded as the moon
at full eclipse. Not just beauty’s lost form
our minds are closed to the old approaches.
Did the free love frolics erase lingering
conversation over malted or martini
the glint of intellect and soul in her eyes.
Forget the pliant plastic. Give us Lysistrata.
Let Hypatia, Hildegard of Bingen and
de Beauvoir rule men’s unsubtle minds.
I have fallen out of love with Barbie
About Me
Mark Folse is a provincial diarist and aspiring minor poet from New Orleans. His past blogging adventures included the Katina/Federal Flood blog wetbankguide on blogspot.com which David Simon told NY Magazine was one of three blogs that helped inform Treme, and Toulouse Street–Odd Bits of Life in New Orleans, which once outranked the Doobie Brothers on Google Search. His work has appeared in The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, The New Delta Review, Metazen, New Laurel Review, Ellipsis, What We Know: New Orleans as Home, Please Forward, The Maple Leaf Rag IV, and A Howling in the Wires (which he co-edited).
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Well Bottom Blues 
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