Sunday, June 6, 2010

Molly Bloom

I wonder was he satisfied with me
one thing I didnt like
his slapping me behind going away so familiarly in the hall
though I laughed
Im not a horse or an ass am I
I suppose he was thinking of his father
I wonder is he awake thinking of me
or dreaming am I in it
who gave him that flower he said he bought
he smelt of some kind of drink not whisky or stout
or perhaps the sweety kind of paste they stick their bills up with
some liqueur Id like to sip
those richlooking green and yellow expensive drinks
those stagedoor johnnies drink
with the opera hats
I tasted once with my finger
dipped out of that American that had the squirrel
talking stamps with father
he had all he could do to keep himself from falling asleep
after the last time
after we took the port and potted meat
it had a fine salty taste yes
because I felt lovely and tired myself
and fell asleep as sound as a top
the moment I popped straight into bed
till that thunder woke me up God be merciful to us
I thought the heavens were coming down about us to punish us
when I blessed myself and said a Hail Mary
like those awful thunderbolts in Gibraltar
as if the world was coming to an end
and then they come and tell you theres no God
what could you do if it was
running and rushing about
nothing only make an act of contrition

photo of Molly Bloom in bed in Chelsea (Louie Correia)

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