Mike Faran

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Blue is for Girls
(For J)

"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
robin's-egg blue.

"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.

Kitchen Light

Did you ever want her back so much
that you pull
up to her place way before dawn,
park in a downpour & smoke
endless cigarettes?

I did this just yesterday, sitting in a
rust-bucket Buick that somehow
didn’t leak
but with non-existent headliner,
no dome-light.

It was love.
That’s what it was all about;

each spiel of an apology dropping like
blood from my
zombie-like mind.

The strange aroma of roses dying from
mildew & smoke wafting from a
cracked dash,

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
good prayer.

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.