Repo Man

My motorcyle’s been in the shop so long the leather butches think it’s a bench for throwing their girls over. Kickstand’s in my pocketbook the way most people carry lipstick. I pull it out when I need to feel good about the shape of my mouth.

Kissed you once, forever ago, when we were young. Maybe it was just yesterday. When the sky’s gone blacksmoke it’s hard to watch the sun move. My jacket doesn’t zip, but I tied velcro to the neck line and now the wind moves against

my skin like breath. I got eleven dollars in my left pants pocket, but it ain’t enough to get anything out of hock. Not even if I ironed out the greens and laid them pretty across my hips. I wonder where you’ve been sleeping but I don’t need

to ask. You’ve got grease stains on your collar and white clouds around your eyes.If only it had been repo man come for you, instead of the other way around. If only we could take that ride I promised, not stop until tomorrow meets the sky.



Image taken on the road from Seattle to Portland
Words written on SE Hawthorne before my erotica class
Time Taken 5 minutes or so. Hurrying!
Brain on driving, airports, travel, life

This entry was published on March 7, 2012 at 6:44 pm and is filed under March, Poems, Portland, Self-Portraits. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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