Two Poems (May 20, 2009. Issue 5.)

My Personal Marilyn

The girl who serves me
looks like Marilyn.
There has only ever been one
Marilyn:
so don’t waste my time by asking
Marilyn who?

She puts my plate down.
Ham and eggs,
over easy.
Just how I like it.
Then she speaks,
and asks if I want more coffee.

She has a nice smile
and an even nicer ass.
The place gets busy and I see my Marilyn
talking to a young guy
in blue denim
who thinks he’s James Dean.

I call her over.
She throws me a smile
and I catch it and put it away
for later.
I ask her for some cream.
She says “Sure darling’.

I eat my ham and eggs,
drink my coffee
and pay the bill.
I tell Marilyn
she should be in the movies
“Yeah” she laughs “I know”

I should’ve given her
my number,
but she’s got Jimmy Dean.
He‘s just a kid
who‘ll die young
and make her cry.

Never a Mozart

My girlfriend looked up at the ceiling

and said,

You know, when we make love,

I hear music.

“Music!” I replied.

Yeah. I close my eyes when

you make a move

and it's like a concerto.

The way you move your hand

across my stomach,

I hear Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata.

“You do?”

Have you never noticed my breathing when

you do that? she asked.

I shrugged.

Then there's the way you touch my breasts.

“Handel?”

She poked me in the ribs.

Bach. Cello Suite No 1.

I'm gone by then.

“And...”

And then it's Tchaikovsky's

Moderato.

The way you touch me, you know

down there. Violins, trombones, drums.

“Brings you to a crescendo?”

Almost. she replied

“And I enter you?

Flutes and violins. Rimsky Korsakov.

Flight of the Bumble Bee.

“Rimsky Korsakov!”

I sat up a little indignant.

“I'd thought you'd hear Mozart.”

She looked at me and laughed.

Mozart! Hell, you're no Mozart.

I lay back on my pillow and

heard the opening strains of

Tchaikovsky.

The music was irrelevant.

It was the title. The Nutcracker

and the fact that I was never a Mozart.