another poem

I feel like I'm cheating, putting other people's writing in my blog but I must be really open to poetry right now or something.  This is the second poem to cross my path in recent history that's gotten my attention.  It's not about what I think I want specifically but I love the persistent humor and blunt imagery.  I can relate to the dichotomy, can't you, of what we want and what we want.

What You Want by Barbara Crooker

is more than refrigerator art,
more than making sack lunches.
You want a bad boy for a lover,
one who'd make a lousy husband, a wanderer
on a Harley, and you with a mini-van.
What you want has high cholesterol,
lots of sodium, and no fiber, no 7 grain
sprouted hearth-baked added-oat-bran.
Bring on the heavy cream.
What you want comes in five flavors, and all of them are chocolate:
milk, mocha, alpine white, semi-, bittersweet.
What you want never goes on sale,
or, if it does, by appointment only,
5th Tuesday, dark of the moon, Scorpio rising.
Is never found at garage sales.
What you want
would feel so good on your skin
you'd never wear clothes again.
What you want is not found
at K-Mart, naked in the blue light.
What you want isn't canned by Campbell's
or baked by elves; it must be flown in from Rome
or brought from Alaska by dog sled.
What you want isn't played on AM radio,
borrowed from public libraries.
Isn't found in Webster's or Roget's.
Never gives double-coupons, green stamps, rebates
or money-back guarantees;
gains no interest, gathers no moss.