Narrative Poem

we all know that courtin’s a pleasure and partin’s a grief
and a false hearted lover is worse than a thief
and that’s especially true when your lyin’
cheatin’ exgirl’s new husband builds a fancy little cottage
in a clearing at the edge of his parents’ sprawling property
nestled amid plush oak and maple and massive sycamores
and featuring a little pond with ducks and a sturdy old row boat
pulled up on the grassy shore

you know for a fact they’ve made love in that boat
which seems like it would be uncomfortable
but then those weren’t the sounds of discomfort you heard
coming from the middle of that pond
no sir
and all this when their secluded honeymoon palace
is not too far from your own sandy little quarter acre
of stunted pine and scrub oak

and if you leave your trailer
and walk barely two and a half miles
move delicately through that thicket of thorned black berries
repel down what they call Rattle Snake Hill
and wade across Miller’s Creek
you can slip between the strands of that damned barbed wire fence,
peek through the brush
and see them blatantly flaunting their conjugal bliss
as though you never even existed

I took her to the rebels near the bank of the Euphrates River.
She was a fearless and heroic Hebrew maiden,  
The daughter of a chieftain of the twelve tribes of Israel,  
A slave in a strange land full of sorcery and idolatry,  
The prettiest woman among the captives in Babylon.  
A Jewess in ragged clothes conspired against the oppressors.  
The fetters of the heathens could not break her.  
  
Her name was Gavriella, which means “God is my strength.”  
She had borne more pain than any woman has ever felt,  
But her unflinching faith in Jehovah kept her alive.  
I was a valorous liberator and she fell in love with me,
And I gave her my word that I would help her to escape.  
I knew that I would be executed if they captured me,  
But I was ready to risk my life for the love of a Hebrew maiden.  
   
The chains of bondage did not affect her charm.  
I touched the wounds that she had received from the torture;  
And the scars from her chastisement grieved my heart.  
Suffering and homesickness strengthened her determination,  
And the hope of freedom was evident in her smile.  
She reckoned that someday she would break away  
And return to her homeland and be a free woman again.  
   
Even though she was young, she had no fear of death.  
I looked at her for a while with uncertainty,  
And then she reassured me with the kiss of bravery.  
She fought courageously at my side for liberty;  
It was a fight that we were confident we could win.  
We sang songs of Zion the night we left Babylon,  
And the Hebrew maiden and I walked hand in hand in the dark.

We all gathered there
To say our goodbyes  
Father Lewis said you were with Jesus now
There were sniffles and red eyes and the sound of people full on ugly crying
“A GAAA Uh GAAAA uh GAAAAA”
You were so loved
You’d be so missed
 
As I approached your casket
I reached in to touch your icy face
So cold to the touch
I imagined the stillness of your perfect body
The state of rest you mastered
The flower dress that in life was your favorite
And your winter nipples poking through  
Cutting through my heart’s brick wall
 
I imagined climbing inside with you
Spooning and feeling you up
Cupping your tits as I slid inside you
 
I was startled when Dad grabbed me
My hard on was on display for everyone to see
He pulled me out of the service
I thought he’d chastise me
Or beat me
But instead. he whispered...
 
“There’s no wrong way to process your emotions, son”
 
I miss you mom.

Her name was June
We were young
I had yet to discover
My self
I was experimenting around
With Penises in my mouth
When suddenly it hit me
I swing both ways
And mostly towards cock

But she rang me on the telephone and said
“Jermaine, you’re gonna be a daddy”
I said I didn’t want that kind of responsibility
That kids are too expensive
And they smell bad
Because they constantly shitting
And can’t clean up after themselves

After a few weeks, I wore her down
She agreed to have an abortion if I would pay for half
But I was young and had recently been fired
For jacking off into a fried shrimp platter
At a fancy ass restaurant

I didn’t have more than 20 bucks to my name
We agreed to meet and figure shit out

The local McDonalds was a nice central location
Words were exchanged
Tears were dabbed off each other’s faces
Until finally she said “fuck this”
Got up to go to the bathroom
And took care of it herself
She brought an extra pair of pants and everything
I couldn’t believe it

I bought us lunch
I figured if I didn’t have to save up for the operation
It was the least I could do
She said she wasn’t hungry, which I guess was understandable
But I love me some nuggets and so I ate hers too
I made a joke about how I was eating for two and she slapped me and stormed
off leaving a blood stain on the chair

As I sat there finishing my chicken nuggets with a side of Barbecue sauce I stared out the window
Thinking on what it must be like to be a father
I never saw June again
And not a day goes by that I don’t regret
Eating her nuggets

1

The ‘60s postmark rots away
and I’m left in the latter day
so many years distant from you.

The pain of love was one I didn’t feel
before I turned thirty,
and happened to be walking home
from office work one day.

I wrote sports and you drove cars
outside the town’s hotspot.
Deemed too ugly for anyone’s girl
to be swept off her feet -
missing teeth, a bulbous brow,
and gaze forever glum -
the studs all felt secure,
pulling up beside
the valet in his cheap red coat.

But even if you were handsome
you couldn’t have returned a girl’s
least amorous advance.

I saw that, watching you.
Sometimes we know each other’s pain
without need of the thinking brain,
and also I’d seen you before
lingering outside the door
of a hidden bar.

2

We shared cigarettes and spoke
the secret language of the freak.
I gave you hotel money and said
to look out from the bar.

Soon enough I heard the knock, like lead
tipping a cowboy’s boot and kicked
against a car.

As quickly as men flee
you’d pushed your way in me
and so I thought I’d been murdered
until that rush of feeling came
and swept me like rich man’s cocaine
towards a bright-lit paradise.

I like to think I taught you, after that,
how urges can be met
with compassion. How men can treat
each other with kindness, and heat
a potent love outside the vaunted norm.

I told you you were beautiful
and that your dreams
were worthy of respect. You cried,
and then laughed when I didn’t laugh
at you, “for crying like a girl.”

3

It’s now gone fifty years and that old lie, that hate fell down to hell from heaven
back in nineteen sixty-seven,
still leaves me bitter as the lemons
growing on my tree.

What of nineteen sixty-five
when I last saw you, just alive,
attended by two parents who
had seen this day ten years away,
and got my autograph when I
reported that I’d seen you at
the various home games, and that
I’d mention you in my next article...

4

The 60s postmark rots away
but I can still read what’s inside,
simple and crude and capitalised,
each letter written as
if with flashing red lightbulbs.
I LUV U N HOAP I CAN SEE U AGEN.

Not since nineteen sixty-five
have I seen you or me alive,
nor has there been a perfect day
since I last shared a cigarette
with my ugly, and beautiful valet.