‘Sophisticated Lady—Small Town Girl’: A Poem by Mark Stellinga

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Sophisticated Lady—Small Town Girl

“Sophisticated lady” gropes the table at her bedside,
blindly taking random swipes to kill the morning scream
That shatters little privacies she shares with no one else,
and steals, with full impunity, her one recurring dream.

Cursing imperceptibly, she slaps the tiny box
wherein the rude intruder hides by which she is annoyed.
Sometimes six or seven times she fumbles at the buttons,
until, at last, the sound that robs illusions is destroyed.

Underneath her quilt to grab a few more minutes rest…
she almost falls asleep again, while trying to decide—
Might this be the day she packs a bag and leaves a note
to say she’s gone to satisfy a yearning long denied?

“Sophisticated lady” knows her time is running out.
She’s begged herself so many times to cede the perfect way
She dedicates her every ounce of effort to her job.
She never comes in late… and she has never missed a day!

Years surrendered honing every aspect of her life,
struggling injudiciously to be the best she can,
She works like hell to prove to all who know her (as she seems),
she’s better than most women and—as good as any man.

Long ago convinced the way she felt her life should be
was worth the many sacrifices she would later make,
“Sophisticated lady” has survived her shallow world
for long enough to realize she made a grave mistake.

Deep inside our “small town girl” believes she’s been betrayed.
She scans her cultured nails, which just intensifies the hurt.
Her mem’ry of the tiny town—from thirty years ago…
the one where she was born, but would eventually desert—

Is trapped behind an endless wall of “debonair” and “chic”
that helps her, day by day, to fight her war of self denial,
While searching for a courage that will compromise her plight
and save the soul that hides behind her cheap, robotic smile.

“Small town girl” sits up at last and wipes away the tears
that join her every morning, then she lifts away the hair
That helps obscure a deep concern for what her life’s become,
and every tedious thing she does for what she must prepare.

She moves across the room to where a blind that’s tightly drawn
has thrown a tamboured shadow on the cold and dusty floor,
And twirls the rod to flood with light the life she’s living now,
exposing what she’s missing from the way it was before.

The Porsche she drives is rented, and her gowns were bought on sale.
She sleeps on tattered linens, though the spread is made of silk.
She dines on business credit cards and drinks the finest wines,
but—home alone—she’d rather nurse a goblet filled with milk.

Those who truly love her live just far enough away
that visits are impractical for any length of time…
Unless she makes arrangements to abandon her resolve
to scale the corporate ladder she is trying still to climb.

Taking time to leave her busy world is not an option.
Only by the emails and the phone calls here and there
Can she make herself believe she knows of things back home,
assuming those who care the most are keeping her aware.

She feels the life she’s missing with the ones she left behind
lies waiting in the distance, and the one thing she has learned
Is things she loved about the home she left so long ago
are smoldering in her bosom… and, until she has returned,

Her heart is like an ember that has somehow been, displaced.
The fire that she belongs in burns a thousand miles away.
Deep inside she understands the pain she’ll feel to leave
is nothing even close to what she’ll feel if she should stay.

And then—like almost every day—“sophisticated lady”
makes her way to where she dons the mask she always did
To help disguise her innocence, deceiving one and all,
and keep them from discovering that… she’s just a small town kid!

But now, somehow, more clearly, “small town girl” can see the truth,
as morning sunshine burns away the fears that dim her view.
The voice that’s begged her many times to make the break and run
to where she longs to be again now tells her what to do.

And as the sound of traffic far below her in the street
desecrates her common sense and steals into her mind,
She is well reminded of the world she’s come to hate…
and moved with great conviction by the one she plans to find.

She stands before the condescending woman in the mirror…
the one who’s held her captive for so very many years…
And blatantly deprives her of the powder and the rouge
she’s used to hide her wrinkles and the furrows from her tears.

Today there’ll be no lipstick—and her hair will not be sprayed.
No blushes, or mascara, no… her eyes will look the same
As when she was a little girl… back thirty years ago…
before she turned her back on those she loves to—“play the game.”

Glancing at her closet filled with suits and fancy gowns
she’s wearing now—at forty-nine—to hide her thighs and hips—
She cries aloud, “Oh, what the hell.” Then… standing at her chest…
withdraws a drawer and digs beneath the nylons and the slips

Until she finds the piece of lingerie she’s had for years,
but never actually found the nerve to wear outside the house.
Today she’ll wear the smallest briefs and tightest shorts she owns,
and those who care to look will know—she’s nude beneath her blouse!

“Sophisticated lady” doesn’t quite know what to do,
having not, for all these years, perceived herself this way.
But this is—“Independence Day”—for “small-town-girl,” at last.
She’s finally made her mind up, and… she’s going home to stay!

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Mark Stellinga is a poet and antiques dealer residing in Iowa. 

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