Wednesday, October 31, 2018

her fragrance

was that a smile upon her lips,
that stranger I just crossed—
who transfixed me with the rhythm of her hips—
does she look back?

likely not, but what she leaves behind
is her scent
for me—alone—to find.

thus I pass into her world,
where trace of rose and jasmine swirl
and for this sweet moment I possess her—
as surly as we lay, legs entwined—
til on the breeze her fragrance dissipates—
and I can no more hold her in my mind
than detain her in my arms.
at last I turn—too late—
she is gone, and all her aromatic charms.

Getting Off

Getting Off

The first time is on the floor, arms locked round knees. 
They are playing Hair. She cracks up
when she sees me, rocking side to side.“He’s getting off!” she squeals—and then I realize it, too.She is older—twenty eight or twenty nine,
living with a man who scares me
That album really creeped me out,
being the butt of its stale joke—
andas it seemedhers as well.

On Deck

On Deck
We’re on deck, Bob said,
when I told him about my mother--
how slow the step, how soft
the voice that had commanded
thirty fourth graders on the playground.
It was kind of him to ask.
I didn’t know his folks, but I went with him
to Mass when each passed. Me,
I’m no longer frightened to look
into the eyes of an age-ravaged face. If I’m lucky,
it will be me who nurses Janet,
And not her, me. Batter Up!