My Poem Poem by Bernard Henrie

In the brimmed sea
of my house
breakfast yellow,
the hollow cupboards
berate and stare out.

In your first visit
glossed high heels,
face lucid, lustre
of a railroad watch.

Now, when you leave,
I am moose-eyed,
owl-eyed, a continent
of men with lost jobs.

I borrow colors; paint you
from memory, ulnar bone,
naked hips pushed out
like rich checks for the poor.

On holiday, on the beach
without you, no cabana top,
no sun block or lime juice
and gin in the palm lounge.

A boiled star fish sloshed
to sea, the lifeguard blind,
his hand inside the bikini
waistband of a teenager.