THE SCAR


Tossed on the rocks, next to
a tunnel of mirrors . . .

still, shiny, shiny

hairdo on her like an "Act of God"

followed by eggs and juice out on "the waterfront"

I did get to
the end of it all

Rapid-Eye-Movement
and her bowdlerized spider . . .

you'd think the universe revolved around the gaffer

that whole drunken
thing with the abs

and his Richard Simmons-in-a-trailer-park sense of the mise en scene

the poppy-seed panties

and the seagull with its frozen wings

leaves, leaves

the beak open and gold in the hushed black water

I couldn't get the smell of alewives out of the blankets

or my fake British accent

Waves like foothills froze under the stars

Pontaluna Road and no license

In the morning vultures were circling the dunes

The coffee tasted like mud

and a rusty can opener