Times

If fucking’s all that matters to Bobby,
Marge could stay. But La Puta is his own
warm womb. She sleeps there the rest of that night.
She attends to him, they talk, and she goes.
They will not see each other until time
to meet without warning and die small deaths.
She is waiting for Jim to get paroled.
He got her started, pimped her, she’s his whore.
Her red hair is tangled, needs to be washed.
She drops by Rose’s place for a long bath.
In time she may move in with Rose, should Dave
abandon Rose. For now, he sleeps over.
Marge’s regulars each have their schedule.
Meanwhile, Bobby works until time comes
to play. Sometimes he folds what he’s written,
Xeroxed of course, and seals the envelope,
writes Henrietta Murphy, La Jolla,
and sends it south. She answers when she can.

(31 January 2013)

copyright 2013 by Floyce Alexander