Blonde • Frances Lemoine

She whispers rented rumors,
and hisses hints as if
she’s paid for them herself.

Charmed by this chalk stain,
you’re a grateful whelp
relishing stale commands.

Your sing-song eyes
court her eggplant mouth.

Whatever she says,
whatever she wants.

One more of whatever
you were baptized in
and it’s all so plain.

You’re another white flag.

She’s blonde.


Frances' poetry has been published throughout North America 
as well as in Australia and Japan. Two of her poems have 
won national awards. She currently lives in New Hampshire.