Her dreamy-drunk smile.Not carefree, but more willingly
careless. I was a hook that caught her.
Before my silver spear,
before the split and gut of birth,
she was lovely and lonesome,
a looker, a girl on the back
of a motorcycle, un-leery,
a keeper, but slippery
when she could flirt and wink,
dance without weigh-down,
without home waiting for her,
without small room and rocker –
mother flew, was a finned flyer.
No wonder, she wanted a girlwho could swim too, who could wing
through the world with nothing to lose.
Winthrop University, 197?, my mother out on a ledge,
the photo's been ripped (by who?), then taped back together (by who?)
p.s. - Capital One, I wrote this poem on one of your pre-approved offers. I've got a whole lot of them, so I don't reckon I'll have to buy paper for a good while.