Art Institute lobby, feeling thunder,
legs, thighs, heavy
stomach sinking into wooden bench
eyeballs shuffling with revolving door.
Chic, tall lady in Versace clothes
enters with sunglasses on
“oh take those sunglasses off!”
She does.
Children laughing, Albright’s paintings
“such ugly people”
the horse trainer’s eyes wrinkled
mildewed clothes
“such ugly people”
and an art student smiles, she can
give me sympathy, but I close my eyes
I’m looking back
lying on hot sand
waiting for Anita from her morning swim.
It’s been five months since she left me,
the height scared me
on the Chicago Skyway
off her trailer bed going to Toronto.
Couldn’t take a joke that I didn’t love her,
so serious.
Water tanks, railroad yards, looked so far down,
I smoked cigarettes with the homeless there
between smiles of faded camel teeth,
heroin snails, Dharma bums.
Anita was a clown for the Ice Follies,
turned porno star for a retired matador,
old men’s eyes lick her ankles
around her sandal straps.
I’m looking back
railroad yards, broken glass,
I’m looking back
cracked surfaces, wired hairs.
© Copyright Tom Wawzenek 2012