Sunday, January 5, 2014


The Betty Poems

for knowing more
than us.
Had they given us
more money
or less sense;
had we less
a smidgen less
hunger; had sex
not meant
had imperatives
not been handcuffed
to illness
and age;
had not a "fuck-you"
attitude tethered
to childhood disease
and family crucifixion;
had we treated ourselves
kinder with love
given from love;
had we been born
right handed
or left brained;
had the grass
not been greener
on the other side;
had the horses
not been swifter
under other's saddles;
had the fears
we nurtured
shared instead of coveted;
had the bodies
we abhorred
and refused to live in
been as beautiful
as our brains
which we did
and prized well beyond
their worth;
had we lived nearer
to each other
and able to walk
around the block
and into what
we thought
was heaven
it would have been hell.
One of us
would have called the cops
or an ambulance;
we would have killed
each other
and ourselves
because we had to.
the gods,
for whatever reason,
the right strings
for the right puppets;
they made us dance
and gave themselves
a laugh and gave us:
"this." "This"
which cannot be named;
"this" which summons
more of "this."
"This" indestructible
and endless "this."
"This" is "that"
which we gave
each other.
"This" is a poem
to you. "That"
is you reading
And that
is enough
the gods.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2014

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