The speaker of this poem is trying to distract herself
from an unpleasant reality. Here, the title means everything.
Bringing My Son to the Police Station to be Fingerprinted
with keyhole closure
and sweetheart neckline is tucked
into a pastel silhouette skirt
with side-slit vents
and triplicate pleats
when I realize in the sunlight
through the windshield
that the cool yellow of this blouse clashes
with the buttermilk heather in my skirt
which makes me slightly queasy
the periwinkle in the pattern on the sash
is sufficiently echoed by the twill uppers
of my buckle-snug sandals
while the accents on my purse
pick up the pink
in the button stitches
and then as we pass
through Weapons Check
it's reassuring to note
how the yellows momentarily mesh
and make an overall pleasing
from Poetry Northwest, Spring 2001
University of Washington, Seattle, WA
Copyright 2001 by Shoshauna Shy.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced with permission (click
for permissions information).