deepundergroundpoetry.com
never lovers
met a woman at a club in Panama City once, near the
big Canal that took the U.S. ten years & 5600 lives to
build. said her name was Candide; I figured it was a
high-class alias, but that was fine. she had the right to
be the star of her own novel.
she’d been down the long road & back again, carried a lot
of sordid chapters in her heart’s journal. she danced after
quitting high school, lied about her age to get a gig. pretty
enough, & secure in her beauty, to trip lightly, without shame
or a costume, in front of a cro-magnon crowd.
that led to more notorious endeavors. her sensual flesh &
the things she did with it paid well, in a strictly operated
house & often on the dangerous streets. she gave her clients
the impression that she briefly fell in love with each one, &
perhaps she wanted to believe it as much as they did.
she had her pictures in magazines, too, the kind a man holds
comfortably in his left hand. unless he’s left-handed…
I was paying for the cocktails, so she rewarded me with her
lurid tales. truth or fiction, her stories kept me enthralled &
hungry for more.
she took me for a walk one day through the old neighborhood.
men in rags, women too, huddled on the steps of old tenements.
children begged for candy bars, having had no history of
wholesome meals. the stench of human lives drifted lazily down
the gutter with last night’s rain.
she told me to remember, as she tried to conceal the glistening
in her hard eyes. I found it odd that one woman could hold so
many intriguing complexities…
we fucked a few times, but we were never lovers.
(Art: Konstantin Kacev)
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