For something completely different, here’s a silly little poem par moi, read over the airwaves as part of a Mother’s Day poetry contest:
You wish you had a Camaro Mom. It’s 1989 and her black patent spike heels click along the scorching blacktop in front of Woolworth’s. Calves forever clenched under sheers, under armloads of blonde little brother, blonde little sister, red jangling purse, coloured pencils. She is fuel injection, Final Net, mirrored wraparound shades burnt bronze, magnetic tape, a cloud of Chanel. It is August, and I need school shoes, and nothing will stop the Camaro Mom.
Gilroy, Corinne. “Camaro Mom.” Information Morning. CBC. CBHA, Halifax, 6 May 2013. Radio.