In the cool of the Fall
when we first fell
she was my B-movie star stable,
scrappy girl reporter one date,
witty secretary à la lusty librarian
or pouty pal with secret crush
sometimes all in one night,
it became ritual
each time we left I'd stop
two steps below
demand one kiss for passage
what girl tonight?
One evening talking witches
as she left I found in fridge
on white plate
thick wet orangeyellow mango slices
arranged in crescent circle
with mound of red slick pomegranate seeds
glistening in their midst
like surreal sperm on fertile egg,
and flashed, aha, a love spell,
and flushed it down the toilet.
Did no good though,
we married a few months later.
She make me sweet begonia
I want to be her front door man
O lady let me light your darkness
Your "you do with me as you want"
Popped plans of white slave trades
And long slow humid caravans
On large lumbering cockroaches
Thru jungle green into my brain.
THE IT IT IS
Full asleep 3:30am
wife comes in, kisses me.
"I just wanted to kiss you."
More lip nibbles and she leaves
me awake, unable to seek sleep
so I flip flop top lop for 2 hours
until she comes back in
and we make love.
Is this foreplay?
She cradles the cat upside down in her arms
brings her to me
and we pet and coo and purr.
Get up, pet cat, feed cat, make coffee.
Wife dresses for morning run.
I fill pitcher so she can water her outside plants.
She gets compost from freezer
to drop by Hooper's Farm on run,
fills cup with seed to feed the birds,
grabs the letters she's written
to assuage grief and prison,
"Compost, birdseed, water and letters;
there's got to be a poem in there somewhere."
I hand her her keys
and she leaves.
Honey in the bee box
Raisins in the bread
Found my baby cooking
Took her back to bed
Asked her in the morning
How she liked my beats
Said I was a poet
But need to test more sheets
Rode her to the mountain
Nestled in the cloud
Down to bushy plain
Where the field is plowed
Played her wet in water
Held her high in air
Laughed like loonies liking
Then took her to the fair
Climbed among the Tetons
Rubbed around the mill
Reaching each our reasons
Scrubbed-a-rub the grill
Not much more to mutter
Matters not at all
That we bit the apple
That led us to this fall
THE LADY AND THE TRAIN
An hour out of Lodz, Poland
rhymes with ooze
long time iron curtain town
gray used chipped broke broken bombed
poorer version of Cleveland
and we're an hour north of town
walking miles to train
to take us to train to Krakow
walking miles in sun
seventy pounds on each our backs in packs
sweat streaming down faces into hidden places
walking fast to make it
Lady stops, says "I can't do this"
takes her Grandmother's full length heavy heavy
1940's leather and suede coat out of her pack
and lays it on the edge of the road.
"I can carry it until we can ship it home"
I offer, but no, we go
she ten pounds lighter happier
breathing belief again.
We make Lodz train
which stops ten minutes from the station
stops and stays, and stays, and stays
eating our connection
finally reach station
look at board out of time
run to gate
find it boarded with construction
knowing no Polish, not knowing gate
we run random when woman shouts "Krakow? Gate 1"
(angel know, I wonder?)
run fast backpacks flapping upstairs cross platform
see train pulling out
Lady runs and LEAPS onto the train
raised arms catching the side of the roof
body hanging down past open door feet dangling
pack pulling her toward track
me running behind trying to lift her up
help her through door
which we did somehow
though I do not know how
go find our compartment
sit in relief
when I wonder
are we on right train?
While I worry
she turns, shows me her hand
surprised says, "I broke two nails."
I'm telling you
don't ever get between Lady and the train
because in the story of the Lady and the Tiger
I'd bet on Lady.
Let me be your rat dog baby
Let me lick your underside
Lace my like to you my lady
Stick my stack in overdrive
You thing my swing in ever land
You wind my wig in counter time
You slip my slide in slither land
You bounce my bump in rhythm rhyme
No rubber bumper baby bugger
Our poems and art offspring will be
No inside box no barcode rudder
We free rove range about our be
So let me be your rat dog baby
Please let me lick your underside
I’ve laced my like to you my lady
You stick my stack in overdrive
I love you oodles poodle love
from microbes low to whys above
in June through moon we spoon at night
before and after rising light
I love you dear like mice love cheese
your way with me is one of ease
we laugh at times or silent sit
knowing this in this is kiss of fit
Wetter water wonders where
the wear and tear of tears do swear
to love obey and stay with true
well true is true for me to you
So here's for you and you for me
as far and long as be can be
I gotta say you are quite swell
you saved me from my one man hell
Our birth of cool is endless song
weaving in and out of throng
showing them there is a way
for two folk true as one to stay
It ain't no thang we bring to stage
but solid rock foundation aged
by this and that and other things
where here and there we tried our wings
I'll see you here and down the road
help you on and off with load
hold your hand and walk and play
what more is there of need to say?
(Peter Ball (1949-2015) music/mix/recording, me word&voice, one of the last songs we did. Hear it at www.reverbnation.com/mutantsmith/song/23115704-boplicity/.)
ON LEARNING WIFE HAS EYE CANCER
Brown trees barren
Blue sky bleached
Gasp in breach
Our thanks to Smith (Steven B. Smith) for today’s poems and pix! About today’s post, Steven says: "While I was recovering from neck surgery, my wife Kathy discovered she had a rare type of eye cancer. She started off with a 30-50% chance of survival if it had spread from the eye.
"They put her in the hospital, partially removed her eye, sewed a radioactive plaque to it, radiated her for three days, then took a biopsy sample. Doctor says there's a 95-97% chance the tumor will shrink from the radiation, and the biopsy says there's only a 2% chance of it spreading. Plus the CAT scan says it probably has NOT spread yet. So the prognosis is as good as it could possibly be under these circumstances.
"So, these are for Lady K: poems from 2005-2017 for and fotos of Lady K aka Kathy Smith— friend, companion, collaborator, wife."
Thanks, Steven! And please give our best to Lady K.
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