Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Bitter Orange: Four Short Poems




Bitter Orange: Four Short Poems

Potholes on Swagger Road:
a dream of living with apple-red & ivory statues,
in an abandoned feed store, broke & painting moist blue eyes...
the roar of a low flying jet like silverware over the coulees.
I can never see myself as I really am, she says,
points to an elm tree that voluteered-up
a dozen spidery years ago.

          ~

One day she wraps foil around herself.
Another day she crinkles in a lime-green
sweater dress made from old ropes:
there is so little time to caress...
to believe in picture albums.
Peasant blouse, no bra...
denim skirt rolled high.
Busted-up goodbyes.
She's turning forty.

          ~

Bus ticket to a clapboard house
& dead battery flashlights.
She asks to have her nipples pinched
as the windows bang in a south wind.
He laughs, distracts himself from her tears...
foxed by the beauty of her brushing
long hair the color of raw steak.

          ~

It's a backseat, drink 'n' drive town.
Teeth snap: Too much cheap perfume, baby.
She throws him down with a drawn-out casino fantasy,
her legs bare, jeans tossed atop a fresh raspberry pie.
Keepsake quilt, a jar of quarters, days and days
clearing hundreds of clogged irrigation pipes.
She touches him with her tongue,
says, I was expecting someone else this year.
The horizon sun disorders itself in their slow motion.

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