A TIGRESS

My friend, Profane,
introduced me
to his cousin--
a beautiful young thing
--who lived in Brooklyn
when I drove him
out there to visit.
Her eyes were green
and backlit and
curious as she watched
and recorded my movements.
Soon, we were in my car,
headed for a hot dog
in Coney. Her body inched
closer to mine the more casual
and crazier I drove; punching it
up to seventy and eighty,
predicting the moves of others
as I weaved in and out
to freedom.

Being older,
and the expansive man I was,
full of insight
and bullshit
(and unemployed),
she visited me
in my crib
before she started work
or school,
or whatever she came to the city for.
She'd arrive,
undress
in the bathroom,
slip into something silken
with animal stripes
then quickly find
my most vulnerable spots
without hesitation
or speech.
She'd shower after,
dress, say good-bye
and leave. I followed
her sound until I heard
the click of the door
closing.

One day
she said:
soon you will grow tired
of this, too.
And left.
The needle
had already moved
toward empty
two weeks prior.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2012