Monday, February 11, 2013

A gorgeous poem by Prudence Groube

I saw the bathroom
caked in the yellow stain
of your crack pipe
and traced its smokey line
to the loading dock;
where we watched The Welder die.
It took three years as he swelled
fetid and blooming in the sun,
before suddenly dissolving.
We took longer.
Through palm trees, asphalt
and faded dreams,
no longer playing at the drive in.
It' s less romantic
when it's not in the movies.
Smokers cough and bad lighting
...and both of us
with inappropriately younger women.
The smut we made of ourselves
fitting -
The sooty shape, stained and yellow,
on the bathroom wall;
tracing the smokey history
of our crack pipe.