If I were famous

are you kidding me?

this girl’s not ready

eyes all on my mussed face

any day, any time or place

can’t even peek out

to let the dog run about

without prying eyes

I’d need a disguise

or a pseudonym

to protect my double chin

and how old really

is that Gucci bag, 1993?

how is she famous?

what is her namesake?

I have no stylist to sleek

no salon once a week

no designer clothes

but I’ve got my Walmart shoes

my sharpies, paint and pencils steady

Prismacolor, always ready

to draw new adventures

alternative universes

coiffed hair, shimmering lips

salon painted, hair snipped

a frou frou pooch

and those cars, phshaw!

two or three, classics all

up there on the 35th floor

skyscraper, painted doors

my office, the view

that’s famous too

can’t find me here

windows tinted, and dear

go walk my dog

I can’t handle the smog

and typing, it’ll do

to make me popular, too

WordPress at the ready

best seller, hold steady

the novel of dreams

but so real it seems

the heroine so familiar

that someone wants to kill her

her beauty adored

in fabrics she can afford

and if ever she gets shook

by a fatal gun, look

she can close the freaking book.

– Sandra Johnson