White-Eating Husband
I eat only white, so what.
Mashed potatoes, glasses of milk,
vanilla ice cream. It’s good.
She tries not to look
as I pick my way through dinner
greens and yellows pushed to the side.
She says she’s leaving – my tight
roses flutter, an alarming dove slaps
and flaps in my ribcage.
A good trick, roses to doves.
Reckless applause rises
as I eat some red, its burst of sweet.
A white ambulance arrives
and a white-shirted
EMT rushes to my side.
poem and handmade paper by mary macgowan, a previous version of this poem was published in Licking River Review, Vol.30, 1998-99
Songs for the Pure of Heart 
intriguing, mary, and beautiful paper!
oh my paper, gosh, i forgot i posted that! thank you! wow, i’ve been blogging a long time i guess, if i’ve begun to forget some posts!
I have 2 grandkids who are white-eating, minimalist eaters…..so can relate. I tease them with broccoli and spinach and golden yellow squash, but they cannot be tempted. The other day the eldest of the 2 proudly reported to me that he does like beets – so the lock is off the door!
really???
wow! i thought this was unique!
this poem started years ago, it was about a friend’s child. then i narrated it from a husband’s pov, thought it was interesting that way. i play around with old work that way. this poem was published years ago, like in the 1990s!