Wendy BooydeGraaff

Hey Lady

my friend says to me, with an upward 
inflection and utmost affection. I smile,

hug, chat, though that one word lady
claims my brain, flags its dainty 

sandwiches, sugar and spice, bone 
china tea cups, Lady Di wearing her black 

strapless dress, demurely bowing her head. 
Lady: the antithesis of tramp

in an animated movie, the one love 
of Kenny Rogers’s life, who whispers 

softly in his ear. I don’t know 
about lady. I prefer woman

or increasingly human. Hey, human 
doesn’t have the same ring. Maybe 

it should. Maybe it’ll catch on. 
Lady twists inside me. Picture a line 

of pearls, or an angry truck
driver leaning over, shouting down

Hey, Lady! Move it! And yet, when she strides 
toward me, the word rolling out between 

us with grace and warmth, I find myself embracing 
her and saying it back without hesitation: Hey, Lady!

Wendy BooydeGraaff’s poems have been included in Cutleaf, Flyover Country, About Place Journal, Chapter House Journal, and anthologized in Under Her Eye (Blackspot Books) and Not Very Quiet (Recent Works Press). Born and raised in Ontario, Canada, she now lives in Michigan, United States.