David McLansky

(5/24/1944 / New York City)

To a Poetess I Loved Before


Ah my dear, my eternal bride,
If love is timeless, why do you hide
And who’s that sleeping next to you,
Time’s gone awry and has lost a screw;
It seems your love was too soon reborn,
And I, a late boomer born,
You rejected me with teenage scorn;
I marked your “growth”, my soul forlorn;
And then we really got off the track;
You were reborn in war-torn Iraq;
They insisted that you wear a veil,
I tried a peak and was sent to jail.
Now I languish in Pandahar
In a town not very far
From where you reside as a babe,
God needs to fix His astrolabe.
The worst rebirth, I live to tell,
I found you in an old motel,
Making love in an adjoining room
You a bride and he the groom;
I sat down with my jug of corn
And swilled it ‘till I felt reborn
I broke down your motel door,
And found you laying on the floor;
You spoke to me in a Southern twang,
Thought me the waiter, up you sprang
And grabbed my jug of new moonshine,
And kicked and scratched ‘till I was blind;
And so my love Time is out of whack,
We no longer ride a parallel track;
Your hair is frizzy you sweat a lot,
Your gait is long, you often trot,
Hair grows wild beneath your arms,
That’s how they like it down on the farm;
What’s happened to my English Maid
Who bathed a lot and often shaved.

Submitted: Sunday, September 15, 2013
Edited: Monday, September 16, 2013

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