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Candy Jones’s Second Personality Has Plenty to Say About Candy Jones by Jenn Koiter

She always looked so well put together and sleek.

A clean, sweet-smelling, impeccably groomed, polite, and charming woman.

But that was many years ago.

How was it she had so many clothes?

Really desperate, she had to sell her mink coat.

She got a job.

Hah! So much for single bliss.

I have seldom laughed so hard.

Fanaticism, overdevotion to fashion, can be pretty macabre.

The older she becomes, the more makeup and perfume she wears.

She doesn’t appear to be ill

but never seems to be without a pillbox.

Too many women look at but never see

themselves as they really are in their mirrors.

She needs a well-lighted mirror and a standing magnifying mirror.

She needs a window by which she can check her outdoors face by daylight.

Few things can look so pathetically depressing

as wilted flowers. Yesterday’s orchid

– not unlike yesterday’s newspaper – is old hat.

Best she keep it home and press it in her memory book.


Jenn Koiter’s poems and essays have appeared in Smartish Pace, Bateau, Barrelhouse, Ruminate, Rock & Sling, and other journals. She lives in Washington, DC with three gerbils named Sputnik, Cosmo, and Unit.

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