Get in the car,  your lover the poem
orders & she shows you
a green polka-dot bandanna, & she gently
ties it around your eyes & thus
folded you two ride in sparse but kind
conversation to some distant place
far past sounds familiar
then to another place where again
the sounds are familiar &
she takes you into a room &
puts you onto the bed & there
in that blind warmth
makes love to you gently,
slowly, long, coming
just to the edge again &
again then exhausted, joyful,
still folded, you sleep
and wake. Stand up now,
she says; takes you to the window.

Sound: a throwing back of curtains.
Unknots the bandanna: you
knew it all along, you're in
your own room, so beautiful
you weep.

Gerald Fleming
Contents | Mudlark No. 3
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