as the snow melts

you open the doorway to onions,

crammed in a pan with cubed steak,

beige dress and apron strings

he saw the wineglass

an ashtray close to full,

he still wondered why she shaved

her pubic hair  into a stripe,

going to piss in the small toilet

a room barely used scented of

kerosene and urinals,

you ok she called

peppermint ice cream tones with

hidden expressions,

scratching beard muttered out a reply

zipped up mind still a conflagration of thought,

i wanted to do an english stew

was your day ok

housewife animated advertising jargon

felt like exploding,

the car would still be warm

engine would start quickly,

murmured almost automatic familiarity

those beech tones just as wooden

full of grain and knots,

fifteen years it was comfortable

not likable settled,

he did not question or ask

just lived as he now did with her,

camus  could of written a diary with  them

in with charlie parker soundtrack,

there was no children

they had not found time,

you could crawl back inside yourself

but that would lead to tears

best left to what was

a grisly fetish

slave and domination

abstract interludes,

snapshots of a smoking buddha

fuck hole sanity,

without that crawling cuckoo

jacket on chair

assembled the winning smile,

she came and kissed

long tongue surrounded his mouth

lips soft journals of praise,

now feeling ok

sat back and spoke as if released

watching her

not knowing her

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Comments
  1. toniiprado says:

    So familiar and so urban! Cool poem! 😀

  2. Rallentanda says:

    Raw gritty and I love it! Yeah shades of Bukowski.

  3. Such a empty, lonely existence. Great writing!

  4. slpmartin says:

    A Picasso image of the couple painted with excellent verbal brush strokes…really enjoyed it.

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