I Look At Her Every Day Poem by James McLain

I look at her every day
those wanderings, 'what it is like to be a girl.
Riding the same bus for years.

Is it just water all mixed up into what we think is nice and clean.
lipstick of the washroom, giggly of breath cotton sphere?
cotton stuck to the stick and they laughingly, at our tighter
bleached, White's always thinking, why does it thyme,
'make us sweat to see planned out rumpled panties.
and the pin circled it like the pioneers of the west
and being completed, 'the sky reaches down painting colors
of the soft cotton, 'your rubber
and the color your mouth and the closing of the teeth,
which crunches up and down, 'politely,
by my eye, you of your bedroom you take for granted the smells
i wonder if it is maintained is the bedroom,
inside on the cedar chest rests the water glass
an open container of cottage cheese and pineapple
by the foot of the bed makes her magic, seem to sparkle,
From which makes circles and made are pretty faces
pulled back and your mother, she moves the covers.
Look at the small silk clothes where, first by me you put it.
Calling out to you please explain how these thing you obtained,
I meant not out of sympathy.
I Called out to obtain, some insight considerably.
First I put back in place the clean smelling clothing.
Then I turn, say,
“look at me! I am clean, but to you i am small, very!
Have pity in me! ” And you say, “every this it is,
of often too, varied in verbal intercourse!
”And you raise your skirt. And.
Revolution of revolution of you dancing,
you see when you stop to let us see, your hot sweaty face.
Why is (everyone) so clearly, but i of your soft stockinged toe
under the clear blue sky,
your sweet ankle and i dropp it to full of the ice-cream
and it is one of many are your eyes never still to rest upon the
invited single, first looking, 'whom removes those of the acquaintance
where you and the others stand to talk moving as the tides constantly
and who paints the faces that ocean fresh, sweet sea breeze
and thinking some salty oysters were simply made translucence
are those closed doors i often wonder about
and being closest to anyone who it is seen, to do.
So often, 'When looking at you, i think.....What it is like to be a girl.