The Bump
Back there before we got it
The way we did the dance
Was to slam a skinny hipbone
Aimed to set your partner
Reeling across the room. Battle bumping,
Laughing, never mind bruises.
Bertha Butt had plenty of backup.
I look back, see none. I have run my rump
Down to a plane and a duet of knobby bones.
Feet pounding over mountains flattened out
My own mounds and hummocks. Run away,
Run away; no softness behind me.
But now I am looking for that bump,
The one that gets me over, sets my
Pendulum back in swing, moves
My hip to barely brush the other's:
To the left, to the left, to the right,
To the right, to the back, to the back.
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3 comments:
I like that.
Mine, new:
She had a name
like an English ballad
She liked grilled shrimp
and papaya salad
She wore her hair
pulled back in a band
She wrote with her right
but gave her left hand
I knew every detail
I still hear her sound
I know the exact place
she lies underground
All that she left me
were sad memories
that float up like wood
from ships lost at sea
The love that we shared
was half make-believe
She had a man
that she never would leave
Then when she died
he and I were the same
wandering aimlessly crying her name
No girl should die
when she's just twenty-eight
I visit her grave
and stay till it's late
I write her sad poems
and leave tears on the page
And as I grow old
she's forever her age
-- J.S.
by the way, this poem (lyrics?) likely is not finished. It seems to need work, some clean-up, maybe more. just did it out on the road the past few days. . .
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