55
for Gina Lowe

i.
wash her body
wash her face
wash her all over
wash her over board
with my eyes

though she’s fully clothed
dressed for work

a bank teller
attired nicely
I inspect her

how her blouse fits
where her pants goes
how well it knows her

how intimate
her clothes and she
I look and eye envy

wish I knew her
as well as cloth does

made into outfits
made to outfit her

I outfit her or attempt to
with this poem

ii.
I is a ol man
I wish I wasn’

30 years ago though
she’d not have been born

it is this day though
as it is, with what’s in it
why I am
as happy as can be

I must not wish
anything otherwise

a strand out of place
or differently dyed
would change the universe
would take her away

how she braces herself
for words, for my remarks

like one braces for a blow
not to be blown away
blown over or blown down

wish I were beautiful still
new still
worthy of a batter of us two

I’d like to mix in, mix with
mix up

mixed nuts in a tin, in a bowl
to reach into
until it were empty of her
of me

ourselves to eat, salted,
until we were fresh

two rivers flowing
into a fjord

iii.
pen seeks a wife, a poem

run into a planet, with another,
perfectly aligned

smile open a door inside
rusted shut

room I’d been trying
to open, to enter but couldn’t

how forceful a smile is
her smile is
how forceful
a smile can be

as pretty as peace
can launch ships, can end wars

wrenched by a smile
can open heaven

can make it rain
can make sunshine
can make it snow

what an omnipotent force
able to loosen nuts and bolts
take things apart

disassemble
reassemble
vehicle I am
vehicle I’m in

iv.
how do I look to her
at her
do I look through her

I could never tell
by looking in the mirror

no magic passes
between me and me

In the toilet with her
someone adds himself
and everything changes
is reconfigured

when the door bangs
when he goes
to the pee bowl
when he whips his pee out

what were we up to
prior to this intrusion

prior to this intrusion
into our poem on paper towel

what was I about to
imagine into being
or to wish was

out of the men’s room
what have I to say to her
of disconnection
of this connection

am I richer because of it
or with it
is my utter poverty revealed
emphasized

like a chord
like discord

v.
delicious mouth

what delicious dishes
she must have eaten
she must eat

her mouth to savor
after all she’s savored

licks lips, lips devour tidbits
morsel of that, morsel of this

urge to take her to dinner
as great as the urge
to have her for dinner

vi.
old age like AIDS
like a thing you’ve caught

similarly, an outfit
you’re unable to take off

is my age, is old age
a thing I’m unable
to kiss her with

to be avoided
like a thing she might catch

as well as being old
I am uncertain about my health

I am as shabby
as the house I live in

elegant though we are
though full of expensive things

unable to afford to maintain
my house or myself as I’d wish

my house and me
in states of disrepair

to offset my house, its shabbiness,
I hang priceless paintings everywhere
over all my walls

do I though, when I see her
light up, a Christmas tree

does seeing her/could seeing her
for the rest of my days
make me beautiful

like the moon, though without light
reflects the sun

son of ours would combine
his mother's gifts and mine

I could marry her
Picasso married
Jacqueline Roque


© Obediah Michael Smith, 2009
Part i. written Friday, 13.02.09,
completed at 3:32 p.m.
Parts ii. to vi. written between
4:04 p.m., Friday, 06.03.09 and
4:24 a.m., Saturday, 07.03.09.