If I am repaired, can we meet again for the first time, in all of the places I have feared to go, and then, again, in all of the places I will have forgotten, if I am repaired?




SC




_____________________________



Here is the desk drawer in which all of my odds and ends are kept, tidbits that would otherwise never see the light of day.











Friday, May 4, 2012

Mag 115





They came too late with their promises.
I had already been ruined,
poached relentlessly,
lathered in Breck—the golden formula.
‘You have to keep your eyes closed, honey,’ mother would say,
‘Tight!’
But what frog’s-ass face upended could dispel Hell’s own brine?

No more tears they promised.
But suds were suds by then,
and you wonder why I flinch, tubside.

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7 comments:

  1. Jingle Poetry At Olive GardenMay 4, 2012 at 8:27 AM

    a cool one.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Cat or DogMay 4, 2012 at 2:02 PM

    right on

    ReplyDelete
  3. ChristineMay 4, 2012 at 5:56 PM

    yes very cool indeed

    ReplyDelete
  4. ^.^May 5, 2012 at 7:33 AM

    Seems like some people are always late with their promises ...

    ReplyDelete
  5. Tess KincaidMay 5, 2012 at 8:11 AM

    Gold formula Breck...ah memories...and bloodshot eyes...your writing is always a treat Steven...

    ReplyDelete
  6. HelenMay 5, 2012 at 9:44 AM

    So glad I came back for one more look at The Mag .. your poem made the journey worth it!

    ReplyDelete
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    ReplyDelete

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