A buncha malarkey; a terrific load of Mad Ave crap,
Valentine's Day is a great big scam. I wasn't born
with an arrow in my chest, and if I see red, it isn't edged
with lace. My mama didn't raise no yellow Whitman Sampler boxes,
with empty little brown papers for brains. BonBons are no substitute
for the smell of sweat on a man's workshirt in the hamper, or his paycheck
in my clenched fist on rent day. I remember looking across the table
into his chocolate colored eyes, wanting to dissolve, dive into the silky shine.
I longed to sit liquid, I yearned to swim like a marischino cherry in them.
Oh sweet Jesus, I am here to tell you, without all the intricate macrame
of Love, I have woven a life where promises are always kept, tears are few;
I just open my eyes& close up my heart. If you show me a Man then I'll
show you the door before I'll kneel at a sanctimonious altar of Romance again.
Forget that face with the craggy lines, his periwinkle blue eye fire incandescent in my groin,
No, sweet Sanity has struck me cold, made me stone That is not for me
Not for me, by Golly. Not for me. Not on your sweet life. You can bet your bippy,
you can bet your last sweet sou, this old dog ain't wagging no tail, no way.
Every new year has its resolutions. I do well alone, a solo act without a net.
I'm just fine. But in February, floating in the vapor of memory's clouds,
misting my resolve, are the shimmering spangles that gleam sweet,
tiny spaceships of passion , hovering, looking for a port.