Cold rain falls in the river, flows down to the sea, gets into the skyline, circles endlessly. Same old rain on the wind, same old pain in my soul.

Saturday, October 16, 2010

Making Do

The man at the corner
sells stolen roses
a dog may have pissed on

I bought three for you

remember the Chinese place,
where the cook smoked
to keep the flies miserable?
you kissed me first there

I sang you a song
from the balcony
of super eight
and wrote you a sonnet
when the ball game was cancelled

your mother blushes
when I kiss her hand
with twinkle and smile
while your father beams
to my adventures and travels
from his lazy recliner,
seeming quite weary of his fat ass

all in all, I've loved you well
wouldn't you say?

but if i could
love another
whose breasts stood taller and mightier
whose lips fountained red in full bloom
whose hair sailed the milky way
in fragrant mist

and if I could
win the Pulitzer
sit upon senator's thrones
win the royal cup or
save my soul
from the heart of hell
by simply throwing your mother in
my place

the man on the corner
would be one dollar poorer
and the Chinese fly factory
a table richer
while your father's fat ass
mourned, for his supper