Three Women


I want a girl like Simone Weil.
Built Renaults, and did it with style.
Wait—I know what you’re going to say.
It’s not pronounced “while”, it rhymes with “oy vey!”
Speaking of which, while she was born Jewish–
By the end of her life she was Catholic tooish.
She cut back her rations, didn’t heed fashions
You could take her to lunch for minimal cashion.
I swear, I could sit and read her all day,
this frail philosophe, sounded see-mone vey.


I want a girl like Flannery O’Connor—
Drank martinis, no flies on her.
She lived with her mom when she wasn’t at school–
from the looks of her photos she was nobody’s fool.
It’s hard to say which story I like most—
if I had to pick, “The Temple of the Holy Ghost”.
She raised peacocks just for the hell of it
right in her yard, enduring the smell of it.
I read her close, but write no thesis on her—
from Millidgeville, Georgia, Flannery O’Connor.


I wished I had heard when I was a boy
Mary Lou Williams with the Clouds of Joy.
She made a piano a thing that could swing,
when you think about it, a difficult thing.
Not quite as well known as Edward “Duke” Ellington
but among musicians, regarded as wellington.
I had an LP with her picture upon it–
I wore the thing out from playing, doggone it.
I’m still looking round for a CD in lieu
with her deft, gentle touch–Williams, Mary Lou.

Included in the collection “The Girl With the Cullender on Her Head (and Other Wayward Women)” available in Kindle and print format on


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