The Drive

[vern.silver]

___0330___
there it is again
loafing in the shadows
leaning up against the stone wall
built to keep out strangers
and others who pass by
without connection to us
sellers of religion or some
other obscure door to door product
we didn’t know we needed

it is easier i think
to let them in
rather than have them
skulking around and catching us
when least prepared to say no

___0335___
her hair cut short like a man’s
she stood just outside the gate
biding her time
watching
as we snuck around trying
not to be seen
nobody home
the lamp out
windows drawn
music off
standing on tip-toe
off to the side peeking
through the slats of the blind
watching to see her leave

but she never does
she continues to stand just outside
the gate poised
in an expression of patience
the likes of which
we have never seen before
we pray for snow
or rain at least
something to drive her away
so we can sneak out and find
somewhere else
she can’t find us

her purple lipstick smeared in
kisses around us
the small hearts
she drew with her eyeliner pencil
black and smudged to look sad
the eyelashes she painted on the
hinges eyeing us
whenever the gate
opened and closed
winking

___0445___
why do you pretend
we know that you are there
we can smell you fear
feel the heat of your body
sweating in its quiet anticipation
of what is coming

what is coming

no one seems to know
lining up like children
hands out hungry
willing to take anything
in the dangerous place
of that hunger

___0450___
she is shy
wet
wanting to rub up against
push the weight of her
against you
just hard enough
to make her sigh and you
shiver

just hard enough to make you
put your soul in her hands
as you feel her hot breath
steaming up your vision
enough
to stop your seeing
that her eyes are only just closed
oh so almost tight that you
are unaware
of their watching

___0455___
there is not much sense in this
just aimless rambling
not even trying to connect
the dots i watch lori
her hair loose and flowing
not in the usual tied back way
loose and flowing and wonderfully
gold with highlights
forcing the struggle in my heart

she is beautiful

there is no touching that
no reducing it down to anything
more than that

___0500___
a poem to make a good man cry
an old man die
in anticipation of forgotten love
reborn
forgotten desire pulled out and
smacked back to life

when you see her don’t tell her
it will only anger her
sicken her at the thought of your
fat belly sagging balls hair growing
where it shouldn’t
your old man smell
your wheezing breath
stinking of stale kisses

and the whole of you still feeling
20 years old
the motor still
running
the crankshaft worn
and a little uncertain
but still running
rumbling in the script of
memory of touching of tasting
of being stroked and ridden to
perfection the old songs
playing on the radio
the old rhythms sliding back
under the skin
pushing through the layers
echoing in the notion that
nothing has left you
that it is all there
that the vim and vigour
of the drive
will still take you
where you
want to go

24 March 2010

[imaginary friend]

I want to use the words 'comely' or 'handsome' to describe this poem, but that would likely be incorrect grammar... so I will say 'well-formed' instead. I have found your recent group of poems posted here graceful and appealing, Vern. I like The Drive best of all.

Best to you,

Sheila

[vern.silver]

Sheila,
Thanks for your comments. After I wrote that one, I began to realize that I was beginning to enter the 'dirty old man' stage of life. Boy how things change when you can view them from an different position!!
Vern