Wednesday, May 25, 2016

PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT


My first wife
married me
for a Green Card;
and now you
for rent stabilization--Christ,
where's love?

First safety,
then freedom,
she said,
then love.
Dontcha know anything?

Fuck Maslow.
I looked out the window
at The Verrazano Bridge.
I saw that sonofabitch
being built,
I said,
from my bedroom window.
We were on our way
toward a frank & fries
at Nathan's.

I don't know, Erika,
do you even like me?

I could get used to you,
she offered. I'm gonna
work with kids,
she went on, I can practice
on you.

I know I'll get jealous
of you bein with the dyin kids
so much; that's the kind of guy
I am.

Cropsey Avenue was coming up,
and the air cooled
and turned salty. The sun
burned a hole on my leg.
My history was dotted
with acne.

If it makes you feel better,
I'm getting the worse of the deal,
she stated.
It does make me feel better,
but I still have to think on it,
I replied.
Don't think too long, hon,
somebody's gonna pull the trigger,
she teased and took her eyes off
the road to look at me, while I
kept mine on the oncoming
traffic. She was
a pretty good driver
but I was the best
with or without
a car.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2016

Tuesday, May 24, 2016

A DEATH RATTLE FROM CALVARY


Lincoln Road, Miami Beach,
hot as a motherfucker,
I moved slowly,
next to my father,
on his walker,
as we took our perch
outside Books & Co.,
me pretending
to be smart,
& he being
his cunt hound self,
watching the parade
of pussy squirt
by. I'd bought us
ten dollar chocolate ices
& twenty dollar Romeo et Juliet cigars
figuring we had one good afternoon left
to figure it out
but never did.
It might have been the heat
that swelled our egos
or our limited capacity
for love
that shrunk our worlds,
but whatever it was
it eviscerated speech
& we were both
grateful for that
I knew.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2016

Sunday, May 22, 2016

WE TRADED KISSES


and rumors,
whispers of conspiracies,
suffused the concrete
against our backs
right-angled handball courts
in our schoolyard.
They were lit
by our backdrop, graffiti neon,
mouse eared, horses
made of iron charging
full throated & adamantine, a city
gun like rainbow jello,
weeping toward a jitterbug June.
Our t-shirts
still white, our arms
barely brown our hands
creaseless
careless yet tight
around fingers walking Spanish
inside each other
and the play of shadows.

We had time
for a cigarette
but only
if we shared it.
We saved our saliva
for our mouths
when they opened
to each other
& left the cigarette
perfectly dry.
Closer,
I said.
She laughed.
C'mon,
closer.
She draped one leg
across mine.
Closer.
Her mouth
& tongue
were in
my ear.
Nicotine
slid
down
my throat.

We had cut
our ninth period;
we had
all the time
in the world.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2016

Tuesday, May 17, 2016

YOU KNOW


Dominican girls
are the best
kissers? she said,
like everyone,
including me,
was supposed to know that.
Yeah, I said,
I know it--
I fell
into this girl's lips
one time in Miami,
and still remember it;
can still
taste it, like
a warm pool
of honey.
Well,
I'm better,
she stated
simply,
assuredly; I'm older,
I've got...ways.

She let the word
dangle--
like the rest of me
was doing...

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2016

Sunday, May 15, 2016

SHE DRIVES


for a living
while I sit
for mine.
She's a real pretty Dominican
with a kinda Brandy Alexander complexion
that you just wanna touch
let alone taste
while my shelf life
is long past its expiration date.
But she laughs
at my jokes
& that's music
enough, as we wend our way
past circumstance
& accidents.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2016

WHEN YOU'RE DEAD


you're dead,
they say.
What do you care
what happens
next?
Probably,
they're right.
But
still...

Hart Island, Potters Field,
looms large...
a storied history
of paupers perhaps,
but it creeps me
the fuck out
lying in a trench
with 150 strangers:
naked bones, hearts
with cupid arrows I
don't know...intestines,
smells, colons, empty
skulls & differing
opinions.

If, by chance,
you've been breathing
on my words
for whatever reason
and you don't see me
for three months let's say,
knock,
or call,
or get in touch
with my nutty brother (maybe
he's still alive?),
just get me
out of the ditch,
burn me up,
scatter me,
preferably
anywhere
where I won't
be seen.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2016

Friday, May 13, 2016

THE GOOD & THE BAD


Miss Susie,
as she was called,
or Susannah Mushatt Jones
her birth name as she was known,
died yesterday
at 116 years of age
in Brooklyn; the last
of those born in the eighteen hundreds
in Lowndes County, Alabama.
Goddamn!
I've got
another 50 years (at least) to go
of watching Law & Order reruns
to beat her.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2016