Baby Blue
the courtesans on the corner called him baby blue,
though he cavorted around with a candid ecstasy
seldom seen under the streetlights or above the sewers of town
though he bought rounds for all the bastards at the bar at 2 a.m.
and bellowed drinking ballads to no one in particular
though he had a colossal crocodile smile
wider than the sea, the sky, or any of the tiny bits in between
the courtesans on the corner called him baby blue,
because on the navy nights when he would lay with them,
which was now and again, it was always with silent tears
and they flowed like the deepest sorrow untold.
Copyright © Jonathan Hurst | Year Posted 2009
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