When It Rained

I was fourteen, she was twenty something.
She called herself Zza Zza most nights,
a big blonde with Vargas tits and
a bad complexion that began at the bone.

She had a one room walk-up off Sunset strip,
the only window looked out at a billboard
for Evian water. She said it was as close
to the Hollywood sign as she would ever get.

Her hair was dyed the color of champagne clouds,
and she wore a tight black tee that read
"You must have been a beautiful baby"
in warped block letters across her chest.

She would snort giggles and say all the swingers
were just dads in plaid suits; looking for lost
years under strange petticoats, warming
cold regret with Mastercard and Jack.

She knew things that were cool-
like Saki was born in Burma,
if you could make a saxaphone cry
you would never be alone, and you can
roll a decent joint in Tampax sleeves.

And on rainy nights when business was bad,
she would invite me home like company,
give me whiskey and head while Gillespie
played his trumpet in perfect sync.


bloggerhead said...

What's interesting about your form of poetry or rather this one specifically is its borders on a coarseness that goes with jazz and the whole sunset strip image and made for intelligent reading

Russell Ragsdale said...

This is an eclectic form of candor. I will come back to read as time will allow me and am looking forward to the experience. There is a lot of bruised merchandise here but we see this on the street every day - I am interested in your moments of compassion and the very nature of it. Thanks for visiting my blog and your kind comments. We each share our souls, for that I thank you.

C. E. Chaffin said...

Thanks for visiting my blog. Today's poem, for reasons of both substance and form, I recommend you lose the fifth stanza.

I really enjoyed "Fruit Stand," wonderful, especially the trope of the hand's signature on fruit resembling a hand mark on blanched skin. Thanks for visiting my blog. I try to link to those who do, am thus linking to yours. All the best, CE.

GeL said...

Quite an interesting read full of imagery and energy.
I read your profile and noticed you like jazz music. So do I. I also like the Eliot quote in your sidebar.

Willow said...

Dear Lettershaper,

I am so glad that you visited my blog, and I have truly been enjoying yours. I especially loved "When it Rained." My favorite lines were: "...a bad complexion that began at the bone," "...warming cold regret with Mastercard and Jack," and " can roll a decent joint in Tampax sleeves."

You have an interesting perspective on the world, and it comes through in this kind of vivid imagery.

I am new to blogging, so I am not sure of the etiquette yet: Could I link your blog to mine? Not only have I enjoyed your words and pictures, but I would like to visit some of the other sites that you have listed (I've already been to "The Liberal Forum," and will probably add it to my blog).

Regards, Willow

floots said...

there are so many of my favourite things in her
(coltrane nod intentional)
knocked out by it
the words
the mood
the music

Billy said...

good vibes. hard poetry, vivid. am linking you on my site.

tom said...

another use for tampons, eh

wonderful portrait

zachary jean said...

oooooo! i love this! "if you can make a saxophone cry you'll never be alone" that blew the top of my head off ... zounds! i love stories about the world's beautiful losers and all the pain wrapped into song.

thank you ever so much for sharing this!