I’ll tell you what sort of mallow this is.
It’s the sort of mallow that comes from a marsh.
A mallow is an herb with palmately lobed
or dissected leaves and usually showy flowers.
In middle school a girl named Marsha gave me
a mallow because she had a crush on me.
We chanted “Marsha-mallow!” and made her cry.
Later, I crushed Marsha’s mallow down in the hollow
and swore I’d never love again. Still, I kind of
liked Marsha. She was mellow and regarded me
as a stand-up fellow. She once tried to kiss me
under a bower. After I laughed for an hour
she ran away screaming “Power! Power! Why
do men have all the power?” She came back later,
glowing, skirts flowing—she’d done something
wrong. “Wow,” I said. “That didn’t take long.”
All around us bunnies were bouncing,
peacocks preening. Then I wrote this song.
