Girl Ditches Boy

The day he asked,
"Do you still care?"
you giggled, turned away,
walked into a dirt devil
throbbing in sunshine,
abducted,
taken to a place
where words, oaths, promises
carried no weight,
where the wishes
of a foolish boy -
heard no more.
Heart-break,
your mother at his side, calling,
"Talk to him - he's traveled so far."
You, fleet swimmer, surged beyond
the boundaries of crashing waves,
found peace in the open sea,
knowing no allegiance, whether
Jesus, Big Bopper, Big Dipper,
or Rama-lama-ding-dong.
It might have worked, you thought,
but those hands of his - too damned clammy,
then fled the scene,
a smoker on break
racing to
sweet, fiery freedom.

            

Elegy

Maybe you knew what love wasn't
when I charged in, believing,
Omnia vincit amor, my Dulcinea,
wise beyond the hills, you saw through
high school Hamlet, knowing it is just
a four letter word, though you didn't say it.
What could you have known? Girl, thirteen, 
dirty-blonde halo, wind-whipped Brillo, 
tossing like a curly salad, a no rhyme/reason
uncombed treatise always incomplete. 
Did you remember long forgotten 
Immanuel Kant as you glanced
through dust-flurried shelves in the back of
Barnes and Noble when books, coffee, cafes 
became the rage again? Something about Beatniks, 
wasn't it? Kerouac, Corso beckoning like  
Ferlinghetti's city lights, pure poetry to the uninitiated,
dithering idiot dilettantes who drank the electric koolaid
acid test, and said, yum, yum, yum. I'm not saying 
I believe what Capote wrote, only I'm not twenty-one and stoned,
living in that lonely home all roads lead to.
I hope you found one, and were happy- whatever
that means. Perhaps, once, you thought,
a grocery list can be a poem, 
lemon is more than just a color,
and sometimes, some loves
never die.

Things We Said Today

That summer,
I sat at breakfast, sixteen,
munching Captain Crunch
a stranger in your house
kitchen glowing like a grotto
knowing only your mother
who came to town
every week
with a Bible group
giving smiles freely
words of comfort
wisdom
made me feel
the world was
not so bad
but not quite as good
as booze, pills,
the assault of rock n roll
blasted away loneliness
fanned hormonal fires,
Kinks, Clash, X-Ray Specs.
I wanted a ride
to a higher side,
desired
a little loving
and a place
to crash,
but not home
where hearts ache
and boredom fills the air
like a sticky August afternoon.
I wanted an end
to the ceaseless beatings of
deep, dark, depression
lying awake at night
on a sweat-drenched bed
eyes open, on the ceiling,
not knowing what or who
to believe,
my mind moved quicker
than Hermes' feet
far into delusion,
mindful,
but not feeling
true Jesus peace -
so I daydreamed,
heard sneakered-feet
beating
uneven rhythm
down a staircase -
kitchen spoons
on cardboard,
a girl's voice laughing,
crashing on a landing,
rubber soled music
from another room.
I rose on beats of
my vulture-winged heart,
waited while a form
darkened the doorway,
inched silent movie slow
into light,
first the eyes,
doe-brown, delicate, 
sneaky grin
under curly
dirty-blonde hair.
In diffused morning light,
you stood
"Portrait of a Woman"
by Romero de Torres.
I fell hard, Wow,
this is it,
too young
to know,
the beginning
is the end
of everything.
          

Sonnet 1.1

In black, rich earth he plants his eyes and seeds
furiously, digs deep hole after hole.
More motion than thought, he rips out all weeds
blindly, instinctive like a busy mole.
He moves and talks not missing a beat, quick
in his answers, perfectly measured, selling
a point you know not true, wonderful trick,
so good, fools even him in the telling.
But doesn't he see as the time creeps more,
the truth will be revealed in a bit
and hiding the obvious is a chore,
like all habits, it is so hard to quit.
He digs and digs - this is the life he made,
oblivious, he has planted in shade.