Saturday, February 16, 2013


The Betty Poems

he said,
move in with me,
live with me,
love me
inside and out.

she replied,
I do love you,
I love you so much
I ache,
I want to,
I will.

a train whistle blew
in the dawn's wind;
each other's flesh
spread over a hill;
you could hear
their bones laugh
while a chinaman
ironed the last shirt
of the day.

They dressed
in each other's quiet.
Perhaps they could be happy
without being miserable.
But that was left
for another time
another day.
Then, bundled up,
they left
for dinner.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2013

Monday, February 11, 2013


one bit,
given all the speculation
now that the Pope is gonna call
it quits, if a young boy
very well-hung
gets the gig.

Why beat around
the bush?

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2013

Sunday, February 3, 2013


Get the fuck off your ass,
I said to myself,
that's all the fuck you do,
I continued,
sit on your ass
all fucking day at work,
all fucking night at home,
and complain:
about your weight,
about your lungs,
while twisting
the arms
of old ladies
to buy your shit,
by day,
or to fall in love
with your bullshit
at night--
daisy-chaining words
to assholes and elbows.
After dinner,
I concluded,
you're gonna walk.

I was sixty-five.
Diabetes and smoking
and boozing had already
done its damage:
a blood blockade
to my pump and pistons.
The only things I could do
to halt the knocking
of Mr. & Mrs. Death
on my front door
was putting down the smokes
and kicking out the jams.
The last was eating "right."
But that I'd do later,
I reasoned.
You don't want to do
too much
too soon.

And so,
after eating
a pound and a half rib-eye,
baked potato
with butter/sour cream/chives,
and creamed spinach,
I had coffee
and New York cheesecake
for dessert.
I finished the last
of the coffee
with a Lucky, my last Lucky
I resolved, while Brian Williams
told me what I already knew:
winter had wrapped its arms
around the northeast
in a death grip.

I rubbed my Buddha belly
placed my two hands firmly
on the arms of the chair
and hoisted myself
up from the table.
I cleaned the dishes
and grabbed my hat, wool scarf,
coat, and sheepskin lined gloves.
Brian said something
about Chinese hacking
which I couldn't give a fuck about,
but this time found interesting.
I halted, but didn't stop.
I was determined
to live
a few extra years.
It was about ten steps
to my front door.
I made six of em
before I opened
the doors
to my icebox.
I took out
two pints of Haagan-Dazs,
(it was nice to have the gloves on),
and put them on the counter
to soften.
I had to back up
two steps to do that.
The rest of the retreat
was easy.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2013