I would say everything should be able to come into a poem, but I can't put toothbrushes into a poem, I really can't!

If only I can find him... the man who will be intelligent, yet physically magnetic and personable. If I can offer that combination, why shouldn't I expect it in a man?

That afternoon my mother had brought me the roses. "Save them for my funeral," I'd said.

Some pale, hueless flicker of sensitivity is in me. God, must I lose it in cooking scrambled eggs for a man.

Then I thought, "No, I broke it myself. I broke it on purpose to pay myself back for being such a heel.

Is anyone anywhere happy?

Sunday-the doctor's paradise! Doctors at country clubs, doctors at the seaside, doctors with mistresses, doctors with wives, doctors in church, doctors in yachts, doctors everywhere resolutely being people, not doctors.