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.


  1. i had completely forgotten about this - my fingers typed the truth even when i could not recall.

  2. As dark and uncertain as some periods in life can be, I have come to learn that there is in all stages a beauty which is inherent to the time in which these things are lived. There is something irreplaceable about the memories, and in deed the reality of having traversed oceans of suffering with the sole intent of survival. All the much more so when you have a loved one by your side to wonder with at the bizarre happenings of life around you.
    Thank you for the wonderful poem.