Friday, November 15, 2013

Still dream of love, but the dreams are different

Lover man, hold the front half
of the dog so I can
pull the stickers out of his ass
Come sit with me at the Unitarian Church
and sing Arlo Guthrie
Can you be home in time on Tuesday
to speak man to the gutter man?
He only hears customers
who have a prostate
Eat some of my French fries
my hips are wide enough
to birth bulldogs
Say What did you just say to my wife?
to the saggy pants in the parking lot
who thought I was alone
Let us go then you and I
to the compost heap
before it rains
your turn to drive

2 comments:

  1. That's a much more realistic view... You've done it again, Ari - I just love your poetry.

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  2. Ah, these are the dreams of many women, including long married ones...

    ReplyDelete