by Mary Johnson-Butterworth

I need a new tatt,
a new tude act,
slink of that loathsome sting
circling my big-sass breast
like a nettled snake’s slither.
I need it resplendent and royal,
bloody barbed wire trapping
my mammary gland in violet,
a violent sleeve fending off feeders.

Hidden from my children, my tattoo
breeds power, protector
of no-longer-theirs nipple.
I need you to balk at my tatt
and walk away weakened, taken
aback by me, femme feral—
only to return risking barbs
to ravage my breast,
titillated by its wiry coronet.

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Mary Johnson-Butterworth, a poetry opsimath, began to write "serious" poetry a few years ago after a lifetime of composing rhyming tributes and invitations for friends, heroes , and family. She was a founding partner of an image enhancement/marketing firm. Mary has been published in both Literature Today and The Birmingham Arts Journal.

by Mary Johnson-Butterworth

recalling a ten-year-old girl’s play in two acts

Act I

Barbie, blonde locks billowing, aproned in shadows
Once, on this same checkerboard kitchen floor,
Steeled herself for Ken’s return in his crimson Corvette,
Like the one in the happy couple photo by my parents’ couch.
“Your Lover Boy’s home,” he announced in my best bass.
“What’s for dinner, Sweetie?” “Swanson’s finest,” I Barbie-chirped.
“TV dinners again, B-word?” his plastic hand slapping her
Perfect face. I hoped Dad would spy her bolting backward, rubbing
Her plastic cheek, then inflamed by red Crayola marker,
Or Ken removing his faux leather belt
As Barbie lay ironed against the baseboard.

Act II

Hearing the plink of ice cubes drowned by Jack Daniels,
Barbie sloppily hummed “You Are My Sunshine,”
Willing Mom within earshot.
Ken abed, Barbie weaved
Unsteadily to their made-up bedroom and mumbled
Her way into the miniature four-poster,
Only to be rebuffed by my gruffest, loudest Ken,
“Get away from me, you miserable drunk!”
Her back to him, Barbie slurred,
“You son-of-a-B-word!” before passing out.

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Mary Johnson-Butterworth, a poetry opsimath, did not begin writing “serious” poetry until recently. A longtime rhymer of tributes, invitations, toasts, and celebratory raps, Mary also co-founded and penned copy for her image enhancement/marketing firm. She now embraces publishable poetry as her wannabe genre. She has been published in both Literature Today and The Birmingham Arts Journal.