Two Poems

78 RPM

He was her one great love after meeting him, she filled in the notches on her bedpost covered her mirrors unlaced her corset let down her hair put away her boots and whips dusted off her dancing shoes wound up her Victrola* and sang herself to sleep *and here’s what she listened to: The Doyenne of the Veranda Ours is a city of stained sheets and roguish regrets a mini metropolis of grandiose expectations... unfulfilled ambitions; fuelled by drink, drugs and sex lost souls seek my rocking chair for succor tales of sordid lives gush from their lips nothing: is forbidden on the veranda dispensing absolution with a graceful nod, I wave my hand in non-judgmental benediction... silently contemplating the foibles of men