Category: poetry

in a quiet room
his heart skipped.
he saw her
from so
very
far away.

his throat was dry.
she sang.
it was
STRONG,
fast, yet
blissful.

he never thought to
talk to her.
he would walk
near her and listen
for her voice to
warble.

that voice.
it shook his soul.
she made him cry.
Every fucking time.
His heart shook.

Her deep blue
eyes.
Her shining
red hair.
He worried.

it was love.
curiosity.
pain.
infatuation.

she never knew
he would never tell
her that it
was love.

it would always be
random chance
awkward times
to meet
with an anchor in tow

michelle wrote
in my yearbook
“I haven’t known
you long but you
have a nice ass.”

she held my hand
and I kissed a
woman for
the first time

hot summer morning
we left school
and drove
for hours

amusement park
pool and haunted house
hot dogs and potato salad
trading tickets for
second base

we burned styrofoam
and cigarettes
felt lips and tongue
on my throbbing
adolescence

she cussed
drank
never wore
panties

michelle was
always ready
she needed
a boy
man
a woman
girl

she confused
me
she loved
me
she mystified
me

blurred eyes
he walked to the end
of the street

barely remembering
where he is and
when he needs to
meet her

he sits on the bench
with a schedule in his
starched pocket
smoking a cigar
and gazing through
amber tint

buses come and go
the sun drifts behind
that hill and he squints
his worn schedule
confuses him

fountain pen
pencil marks
scratches and tape
keep his day together

she explodes
into his broken
mind
her bright blue eyes
and searing red lips

that summer on the lake
when she taught him
how to swim
and not be afraid

that humid night
when they
held their
bodies close

a family of five
she died
and he was alone
in a home
of forgotten heroes

he kept her close
that shawl on that one
night when they
were animals

he wears her
jasmine pin
and smells it
when he can’t
remember

monday
she sits in the dark
her ass tingles
from the hard
seat

she wiggles
in her chair
she bites her lip

tuesday
awake at 3pm
at home
ramen on the stove
takeout in the fridge

wednesday night
at a bar
nachos
bright orange cheese
pickled jalapenos

tequila and sour
her will is pliable

legs wobble
a weathered man
with large lobes

blurry images
she relents
her body wants to
feel

thursday
she rubs her eyes
her thighs are bruised
a bag of frozen peas
between them

she remembers when
it was passionate
when she loved that
one special man

her eyes close
she lets it rush
into her soul
frozen and
on fire

friday
that one expensive
dress
she crosses her
legs
her eyes shut
and a tear

saturday
she thinks of
that man
with large lobes
between her legs.

8:15

A night
of family and
awkward glares
from past loves.

Beer in hand
smirking and
shaking hands.

I bite my tongue.

10:30
Driving.
We need food.
Greasy, cheap, food.

The truck stop comes and goes.
Waffle House.

10:37
Car parked.
Holding hands as
we walk up the steps.

Worn red vinyl
and chrome chairs
prop the doors open.

It’s stale
thick
and greasy inside.

A once tall man
greets us.
Sergeant bars
on his apron.

Bill shakes my hand
and we sit at
the counter.

She asks for quarters.
Louis Armstrong and
Otis Redding
spill from the jukebox.

Short order cook named
Brandi fries up
a banquet.

Plates appear in
a sweep of gesture
and graceful apathy.

Gravy. Sausage. Eggs.
Pecan waffles, butter
Syrup.

She tells us about
her old man.
It’s not working out.

Bill remembers a Vietnam
reunion in N’Awlins.
Almost kissed a
man in a dress.

Brandi cleans the
windows.

We dance to
Conway Twitty.

11:43
a crowd of strangers
come in.
the moment is gone.

The drive home
is blissful.

j-

musty cotton sheets

soft, hot skin, sweat.

she smells like cheap

patchouli and benson & hedges

freckles on her thigh, her

arm resting on her drooping tit.

she buries another fucking butt

into the ashtray and asks

when I’m going to get a

curtain for my goddamn shower.

she likes the avocado ones

with mushrooms on them.

I tell her she’s a moron and

can’t pick it out.

the ashtray

empties in my face

her fat ass and small waist

gets up.

she still smells like

sex- her legs wobble

and buckle as she sits on

the toilet.

my door doesn’t lock.

she wants breakfast.

bacon.

eggs.

coffee.

the bitch wants me to keep

paying for a relationship

that usually lasts an hour.