October 5, 2008


Her red hair caught my eye from across the station

“Hey.  Hey wait up!”

She ran and hurdled the turn stile,

I fumbled with my ticket as she rounded the corner.

Her black leather jacket masked her small shoulders,

she vaulted the escalator and flew

into the heart of The City.


The streets are filled with people,

hundreds of ants crawling over concrete

from one dark hole to another.

I see my vixen jogging barefoot across the lawn,

a fountain and two-dozen pissed off day laborers separate us.

I hurry around the fountain to cut her off at the hedge.


She grabbed my arm and kissed me on the cheek.

“Thought I lost you.”

Our feet took us home as we eyed the:

pork sausage, roast duck, fresh sushi, grilled chicken

sitting just beyond reach

inside the glass frames of capitalism.


She is wearing coco butter and vanilla

(it never fails to make my jeans tight)

I kiss her neck.

Her hands fumble with the keys,

my hands fumble with her zipper.

Our stomachs growl in unison as the

latch flips / pants fall / couch squeaks.


I wake up to banging pots and frustrated curses

flour accents the kitchen counter

her sleeves are rolled up and her hair is unwashed.

I hand her a glass of fresh orange juice and take away the spoon,

“You make it look too easy”

“Will you turn on some jazz?”

“To early for Coletrane?”


I kiss her and start flipping pancakes in two frying pans.


The front page is filled with

sex / violence / celebrity

I grab the comic section and pop a blueberry with my teeth.

She sits down on my lap

starts picking at my pancakes

so I wrap my arm around her waist.

The coffee pot whistles and I spoon fresh grounds into her

French press

(apparently the only way to make a proper cup of coffee).


Our cups sit steaming on the table

with sugar and cream at the ready.

But she wasn’t wearing panties

and my hand around her waist tickled

she got turned on

she stained my shorts

then ravaged me.

The coffee was cold when we came back;

I added ice and Bailey’s and called it a cocktail.


It was Sunday so being drunk at noon was acceptable,

some Catholics start “communion” at 6:30 in the morning.

Drinking that early just doesn’t settle well with me,

but a beer or three with lunch does just fine.

She flipped the Coletrane record

fell over the back of the couch

lit a joint and blew the smoke toward the open window

letting in the salty sea breeze.


I kissed her toes and her calf’s and her knees

my mouth walking like a spider

a snail trial of saliva from her navel to her neck.

She introduced my lips to the moist end of the blunt

I inhaled.

She wrapped her lips around mine and we exchanged life

from one lung to another,

then she giggled and smoke spewed from both nostrils.

The dog across the street barked

we kissed and enjoyed the sun.

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