A woman like that
does not exist on any sofa
no matter how soft
or affordable or white.
Page 41 is a beautiful lie
warmed by the California coastline
seen through those
whitewashed French doors,
open to the sugary sands.
It isn’t hard to believe
in the length of her hair
or the highlights that shine
with an angelic glow.
But isn’t skin, up close, always
pitted with disappointment?
And that book she’s holding,
I can only hope it’s a prop—
a silly vampire novel
or a dime store romance
which surely pales
when compared to her own reality—
exhilarating and charmed.
We mere mortals
exist in houses on another page
in another state
equipped only with our wit
and our deep thoughts
to entice our lovers
on the languid afternoons
when we secretly hope
that women like her don’t read Pinker’s
“How the Mind Works”
in their spare time
or work toward law degrees
from Harvard.
We are unable to imagine the luck
of being awarded brains too
with those thighs as long and smooth
as our lover’s dream.
My envy
isn’t a wish for hardship or harm,
just that she can’t cook
and that she goes home tired
to a second hand couch.

DeMaris Gaunt

Photo by Deanna Morae

4 thoughts on “Advertisement”

  1. As well as the impossible struggle to overcome genetics! I don’t have an answer, because beauty sells, (and I love to look at beautiful people too!) but I do feel annoyed by the artificial standard of body type and beauty that is in magazines and on TV.

    And obviously, (as told in the poem) I am regretfully not above the cattiness that some ads invoke!

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Thank you! Two or three years ago, I would not have written this poem, because it shows the author (me) to have insecurities and a certain tendency to stereotype. Back then, I wouldn’t have wanted to admit that, or expose any personal shortcomings, but now I feel like honesty must trump any fears of being vulnerable. Vulnerability is something we all understand!


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