Blue is for Girls
"Your feet are beautiful!"
I never thought I would say this to another human being;
never even considered it.
"Touch them!"she moaned in a husky sexy voice ... "feel my fat pink pinkies!"
Reluctantly I obeyed; I felt each digit with the tip of my
index finger and I
never was so ashamed and aroused at the same time.
I knew she was going to ask for more now that she had me naked on
the garage floor,
I knew that she was going for broke.
She mussed my long red hair and pointed to the row of paint cans - she wanted the
"Now paint my beautiful footsies with your stiff
tongue, motherfucker. ..and say my name after each stroke".
I was afraid to ask her name, so made one up - Camille.
Did you ever want her back so much
that you pull
up to her place way before dawn,
park in a downpour & smoke
I did this just yesterday, sitting in a
rust-bucket Buick that somehow
but with non-existent headliner,
It was love.
That’s what it was all about;
each spiel of an apology dropping like
blood from my
The strange aroma of roses dying from
mildew & smoke wafting from a
but you tell yourself that everything
will end well
like the end of a poem she writes
from the rear of a city bus.
And you leave alone the bottles of bourbon
in the broken glove-box
with a lid that hangs open like a
Rolling Stone’s tongue
When her light flickers on
you fire-up your final cigarette & inhale a
I did it all yesterday,
Because it was love.
Mike Faran is the author of We Go To A Fire (Penury Press) and has appeared in Barbaric Yawp, Homestead Review, The New Laurel, Iodine, The Main Street Rag, and many others.