Scollay Square Litany

I miss her brash tongue

her caustic vulgate of affection

I miss the sweat of her speech


I want to play bare-knuckled tonsil-hockey

that lands us both in the penalty box


I crave the salted rim of her sarcasm

her hundred-proof blue-label wisdom


I remember her reproachful look

when I said I liked Nicole's martinis


I bow to her black knee-high boots

genuflect to her hips as they swivel to Patsy

venerate her voice doing Winehouse word for word


I cherish an ashtray vocab

that would never take the name of Jesus in vain

but would drop the F-bomb forty times a minute


I daydream still of kneeling at her feet

and kissing away the hurt and heat of her workday


once I explained the word "mercurial"

assuming she might not know what it meant

I made that mistake exactly once


I ponder the mystery of a young Republican woman

who was all for gay marriage and who loved George Takei


I worship her who could hold her own among construction workers

mafiosi State House politicians and leering libidinal lunkheads


god-fucking-dammit I want to see her face again

I want to bump into her on Hanover Street among the ristoranti

I want to meet her on the 77 bus on the Red Line train

at Jimmy's Steer House in the People's Republic

sweet suffering Christ anywhere


I recall her seething anger at some deep inner pain

which she never expressed to me

or to anyone else I suspect

Poetry by Thomas D The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 54 times
Written on 2021-04-10 at 14:41

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jim The PoetBay support member heart!
God bless whatever it was that cut you loose to write this, it's fantastic. Wow.