Tamar Fleishman 1:48 p.m., Dec. 16
Three poems from Mouth & Fruit
La Jolla Boys
- We sit here on the pier and think
- That, someday, we will drink.
- We tip our Pepsi toward the sun
- It’s vintage 1981.
- Still too young for real fun
- And rich La Jolla Boys.
- Me and Jenny planning through
- Our string bikini beach debut
- But haven’t got a thing to flaunt
- Against this sea of debutantes
- Their fishing lines already taut
- With rich La Jolla Boys.
- As strong as Crystal Pier is long
- And eyes Pacific blue,
- We’ve waited more than fifteen years
- To meet men just like you.
- We practice doing runway walks
- And suck on popsicles like cocks
- And build sand castles as we talk
- Of rich La Jolla Boys.
- I sit on your patio, alone,
- my empty glass as heavy as a gun,
- my satin straps and clasps not yet undone.
- Each guest shines with candlelight and wine
- poised before the window, drink in hand,
- balanced on your perfect baritone.
- This empty glass is just a timing gun:
- a heavy heart, all steel and no shot,
- that announces the anticipated start,
- says it’s time, at last, to run,
- and takes the blame for blasting it apart.
- The rich, black humus, airborne, glimmers gold,
- gray granite boulders softly wrapped in moss
- beneath the dusty light of oaks as old
- as California.
- Creeks just right to cross
- with one wide leap and lined with cottonwood,
- river stone chimneys, an abandoned bridge
- which finally lost its lumber in the flood.
- Manzanitas, red beneath the ridge,
- the muted clop of horses down the street
- melts the whispering rasp of raking leaves
- filtered slowly through the mountain heat
- beneath the stellar blue of make-believes:
- The slumber of Descanso’s summer spell
- wrapped in a heritage of chaparral.
More from SDReader
- Three poems from Mouth & Fruit — Sept. 2, 2015