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photo by lady k

FIFTY-SOMETHING

I transcend this glut of sexuality
to live contentedly ever after
Forego lathered thighs for the
spread of mayonnaise or an
extra wide slice of a dream
There are ages and some
circumstances that deter
There are extractions
that destroy any caring
So even in this age middled
between birth and death
I am latent in anything
requiring my exposure
After all - it’s all been said
and done beyond any need
and no one cares when I
smile with eyes lowered
so why bother with the
innuendoes or blatantness
when I can sit back & assess
with memories in every poem

cheryl townsend

IT USUALLY STARTS WITH A FIRE...

It usually starts with a Fire... or with the newspaper that starts the Fire... or with me on my knees to start the Fire, with a newspaper that I'm about to crumple up- but start reading before i set it on Fire- and then I've spaced out starting a Fire, and I'm into the paper, because I'm not cold yet, because I just got up and have enough body heat that I can walk outside & pee with nothing on & not be cold until I have something to eat & then I need a Fire... so I'm on my knees, with a pallet board that I'm gonna split for kindling (or else I put my slippers on & walk out into the morning to find a dead hemlock branch, still dry- because it's the driest Winter in 117 years- and with lots of lacy branchlets on it that burn as hot as paper & as easily ignited) & I take these back to the house as the raven flies over, asking "Gwaaaawk?", & I snap & fold them to fit in the stove, and I still have them there, on the floor, next to where I'm kneeling, reading the paper that I fully intended to burn as an opening act to a Fire... and the face of this vibrant being, probably in her 50s with a very stylish $400. haircut & the million-dollar foundation & perfect lip gloss & the high-dollar grease that's applied with such ineffable perfection that you don't even notice when you look into her eyes & above the perfect angle of her chin is that smile- That smile... yes- THAT Smile- that says, without another word ever needed, says "I could bench-press you before I fucked your silly boots off & turn your brain to mint jelly- if I felt like it- but first I'm gonna go & run 3 miles in 20 minutes to warm up, & make my legs sweaty & my juicy loose because I had my morning shot of Feminessence© & a tequila and I Am Killah... & you're still down on your fucking knees without a Clue, you old Fool!"

Is it Spring, yet?
Do I NEED a fire? (Oh, yeah... as soon as the oatmeal hits bottom & my extra blood goes to keep it company... not for the orange, or the grapefruit, or the Vitamin C or the green tea... well, not right away... but, yeah... so I put her away, WAY in there, all crumpled up (having fallen in Love again, before I even got a Fire started) & the folded & splintered branches on top, and the split-up 1-by-4 & the bigger stuff, and a match- one of the New book matches, from China, that have about one quarter of the red stuff on the top, compared to the Old book matches (which there are still some of, in my back-pack, or my cold-weather hunting coat, or one of the work shirts, or in the crap in that old dresser by the phone that has a basket in it full of business cards & earplugs & parts of suspender fasteners & harmonicas & empty guitar string envelopes & stubby pencils with good erasers & a chainsaw spark-plug & legos & poker chips & agates & a tiny tube with tinier screws for hooking eyeglasses back together and an x-acto handle & a hand-lens & postcards & phone numbers & poems on envelopes & pastry bags & condoms & safety pins & empty .22 shells & little plastic bags with flower seeds & book-marks & napkins & empty folded produce bags & pictures & cancelled stamps with cool artwork & rubber bands & broken drill bits & phillips drives and little spiral notebooks & a bird's foot & a squirrel's incisor & ball point pen springs & paper clips & a mini stereo jack & a needle that plays 78s poked into a styrofoam peanut & dead AAA batteries & a good 9Volt and all the other stuff that used to miraculously all fit inside an upside-down sailor's hat that was on the table by the wall phone where the cordless is, now)... These new matches are no match for the old matches... no match at all... but I already ripped it out of the book & maybe it will actually Light Up- if the glassy-smooth striker surface works as advertised- and I will set my new Love on Fire, and warm myself... whether I need to, or not...

It might as well be Spring...
^..^

herbert

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