To the Wharf

Let me tell you, motherfucker, she’s no
woman for you.
Her fingers take the voodoo out of style.

He’s been going back and forth
from Adore’s to The Saloon
and back to Adore’s, beloved Adore.

She’s twenty years older than you,
motherfucker.
Her magic floods you with dreams.

At The Saloon, working with elan,
Young Jackson learns the tourist trade;
Roberto dying slowly, where the birds are.

El–you damn near said Lelli or Lel,
or God forbid the tongue to utter
her natal name Eleni Rallis . . .

She could never sit still
except with words in her lithe hands,
and you never learned Greek.

Old friends say hello.
Rocky brings Belle, Big John’s widow, by.
Patsy Rose, sibyl reading cards next door,

pops in to tell you why the heat, the cops,
keep her awake at night
smoldering after the riot, in the still heat.

Cathleen calls after you leave a message.
San Francisco is cool, a breeze
in the park, where she walks every day.

You would like to know ahead of time
who’s dying and when
so you can read your brother’s words

to learn why Carlos walked out
of this life. His manuscript’s upstairs
in the little house in Lagunitas.

You ask Cathleen to bring it to you.
She has to fly to Paris. Business.
She says, Why not come with me?

You think about Cathleen, in bed with Adore
asleep. You go into the alley naked
to see if you can hear the night music,

say to yourself, I so love it here.
This woman is the only one lets you be
Johnny Flowers ne Juan Flores,

while brother Paolo lies with Georgia
in our late mother Nell’s St. Charles
mansion, still called Madame Doll’s.

Your sister Susanna wrote from Seattle.
Madame Peggy had the letter sent on
to Adore’s. Susanna was deep in debt;

you replied: All I got is yours when I die.
She calls the brothel, the ladies sleeping.
Peggy said she sounded frantic.

Susanna's gambling again, said she will be
first to die. Also, this man led her on,
made her think he gave a shit. You think,

That’s the way we talk now, her and I.
Is there no relief from the infamy
of words? You go back to tell Adore,

Let’s go hear some music this afternoon,
it's too hot to keep the doors shut, we can sit
on the wharf. She says, I could use a walk.

(31 July 2011)

copyright 2011 by Floyce Alexander