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

CAITLYN'S OUT--

everybody's in:
feminists fetishizing
feminism; photoshop's
hustlers pimping
& primping & cropping;
reality suffering
mass delusions & madness
surfacing with each
"like" & "post"
& "tweet" & tit
distended.

How lovely
to be romanced
by romance
again. Nature knows
better than all
the asshole
philosophers, pundits
of all things social,
like diseases
& plagues & performance
anxiety: all men want
is to see
under the hood. They want
to know:
how she drives?
How she corners?
How she excels
when the foot
is put to her
and pressed hard
around her neck?
They care not one wit
for reality--
and who can blame them--
when illusion
is the gas
that makes them
go.

It's Eve
who graces
the cover.
You can almost
touch her. Come
closer.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2015