An old bag arrives, stripped bare,
A collection of memories that have left on their own.
The worn shoulder strap carries the lingering stories,
Entangled with the scattered branches of recollection.
Though she sleeps beside me,
I find myself longing to see her once more.
Do you remember that long-ago summer
Camping out down by the lake?
You, me, your sister, and my mother
And all of the memories we’d make?
Fishing, we found, was a pointless pursuit
For all that we managed to hook
Was the shoulder strap of your bathing suit
And I laughed at how silly it looked
Then I swore with a mock-vengeful note
That every last fish, I would catch ‘em
Someday in my very own fishing boat
And I’d call it Michelle’s Attachment
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about friendship
It’s that it takes two for smooth sailing
On our don’t-let-it-come-to-an-end ship
It’s the small things I find worth regaling
It’s been many years since that fateful day
When eleven-year-old me made that vow
And my non-existent boat, by the way
Still has your name on its bow.
For Michelle Pruitt
It was not I that unveiled her beauty.
The model waiting to enter a camera lens
fusses over a shoulder strap and steps out.
Did I see a veil fall?
The crying girl beneath was erased in an instant
as she felt eyes upon her, it vanished
where she pouted and posed.
Maybe I was mistaken, maybe I’m and old romantic,
seeking something not there,
but I do see her alone with her dressing table mirror,
listening to the glass image, telling it not to cry so.
Exasperated she rises and walks to a window.
There is a man in the distance, he is away
from the crowded street.
He is waving to her.
I imagine I am Peter Pan bringing home the lost girls.
Though she sees only a small boy
and wonders why the child is all alone in the park
crying.
Then she remembers her own secret image
and understands.
Always, my golden muse of subtle secret entertaining
If comes, it is not my fault to see her even in the soup;
It seems you stealthily descended from a famous painting
Of the same blond season of hope caught in a magic hoop.
First, the leg, long and discreet barefoot touches the carpet,
Then, the feline jump in the pantry, and I pretend to be asleep,
And the only verse that comes to my mind and I can set,
With big eyes and a look dumb so happy digging deep.
It is an attempt to touch her, this unwritten poem with blue eyes…
I want her danced or her shoulder strap silently slipped somewhat,
But, only the echo sounds as your name, I repeat countless times.
Each morning, I find her footprints remained everywhere, but…
The poet`s hot tea is there, next the morning` embers;
Someone sipped a bit from it, perhaps the morning star:
Here's the lipstick trace, and -I think the perfume is hers.
She also tasted from my pretzel and the rhyme. I know you are…
You Had No Reason To Pull Me Over
By Elton Camp
It gave poor Fred quite a fright
A siren and a flashing blue light
He was certain he wasn’t speeding
And that other laws he was heeding
He was only trying to get to work
Now to be hassled by that jerk
Fred buzzed the window down
As the swaggering cop came around
“What is this? I wasn’t doing a thing.”
To the cop’s lips, a sneer did spring
“Pal, that’s exactly what they all say.
That I shouldn’t be doing ‘em this way.”
“Your brother, a senator well may be
But that doesn’t mean a thing to me.”
“And I know my salary comes from you.
I’ve already heard that one plenty, too.”
“Your were driving with a phone to your ear.
To road’s center and edge you came near.”
“A cheeseburger is clutched in your right hand.
Between your knees, a drink cup does stand.”
“In your left hand you are holding a French fry.
To control your vehicle it is impossible to try.”
Your seat belt and shoulder strap hang loose
For these safety violations, there is no excuse
“I’ll list all the charges you will face
When the judge will hear your case.”
You're beautiful
I say to my faultless boy
holding him like a mother
my love cleansing all the trouble
my fingers soft on his baby skin
and smooth forehead
You're beautiful- but you always change
You don't stay the same
You can't fake when you're asleep
and you terrorize me
when I see all my broken jewelry
a snapped shoulder strap
the button from my jeans
the violent remains
of my worthy presentation
messier than my frizzy blonde hair
in which you tied knots with clumsy hands
Your sheets and I are stripped and stretched
in a sort of desperation
in a sort of hunt, or a game
I can see my name
never really mattered much
food is food when you're hungry
like hips and lips when it's dark
and "you're beautiful" is a cloud
dissipating
over the stoked fire of your flexing legs
My broken back feels less than
my broken heart that uttered
strangely broken words
that may have suited another man well
one who could've painted me a picture
or only grabbed me with his happy eyes
who might have made my heart bare
before my body
who might have said
"You're Beautiful"
Instead I sink into
your foreign arms like
a fractured jaw
reigning in forever flooded eyes
I guess I'll never learn
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