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For Love
in tears
her
marriage
in ruins
she poked
thru
my books
until
lighting
on
Creeley's
For
Love--she'd
take that
&
carry it & keep it
though
later
many times
she'd
find
herself
drunk in a
ditch
crying out for
a lover, a
place to piss,
heaving
toward
some face
some
hope for
lost love
this book
did
see her
through
like they
say––
words
postcards
scribbled
in
haste--
onward,
he would
sign,
even to
a great
emptiness
hands
folded,
the body
still,
losing
its
tension
fluids re
turning
to earth
where
gnarled
stems
furled
leaves
poke
thru in
april
sun--
today
as good
a day to
die
as
any––
Goggle-eyed
scrawny
old man greying
flesh,
thin legs, turns his
body away
that others might
not see,
yet peers out of his
corner
watching the parade of
man &
boyflesh as it passes.
he listens
but will not talk
when
Adonis calls him,
turns
quickly to draw &
unfold his
underwear from
his
gymbag, his buttcheeks
quivering. he wears a cross
about his
neck, & there are scars
in his
side—some old wound,
some
surgery lost in his private
story. finally dressed, he
scratches
his pate, long thin hair
hanging
below his ears, picks up
his
gymbag, closes the locker
&
makes his way thru conver-
sations
among naked boys & men,
almost
unseen, careful not to
stumble—pausing
to peer back,
as if
rueful he could not break
his
silence, nor they enter his.
Marines with cobbled armor
fight thru
blind streets, windows where
killers'
eyes could be staring down even
now—the
camera follows a lieutenant who'd
talked of
struggles with morale, his bright
face
self-assured despite his doubts—now
in combat
racing thru with his fellows then
screams
& fire, bullets thudding above
the wall
where the camera catches one
yelling
above gunfire, he's hit, he's hit—
call it
in—puddle of bright blood spreading
on the
pavement below: here on the TV
in the
locker room where boys & men
suit up
& return naked with their towels.
eight
stand before the TV now, still—
one has
dropped his towel & stands fully
naked, mouth open, fully exposed.
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