2 poems: visit, eulogy in pigtown
craig kirchner
visit
I sent her
home to you
disheveled,
lemon hair
lit, impaled
alive
she’d come
for love, time,
mind-altering
wine,
oysters, clams
some Thai
she licked,
fingered,
then wanted
words of
all I thought
I gave
I wrote
her verse
then gave
her back,
she wouldn’t
even bathe
Eulogy in Pigtown
Sober Thursday mornings
in his flat we discussed
Kafka, Sartre and you.
Champagne always on ice
in case you visited.
He knew you wouldn’t,
but it was all right.
In between sets
you read poems
and so he searched
to put one word
in front of the other,
moving left to right
with that club foot,
seeking the one image,
a sentence -
by closing time a complete thought -
that would win your applause.
Afternoons he limped
the neighborhood
hoping to catch a glimpse,
to finally know
where you went home to.
Toward the end
he carried a ladder on his shoulder
having heard it was second floor.
His recurring dream was -
he approached the stage,
with a suave 007 gait
put a c-note in your garter,
turned to the audience,
straightened his tie
and proudly introduced your name.
His docent and only friend
I have come to realize
that he happily paid
every day in dollars
and gin damage
to stay crazy, to write verse,
to see you.
