Poetry by Lola Gentry-Dey. All rights reserved.
shopkeepers seduced pot-bellied old men
that rubbed and kissed their trousers
and guaranteed to stop lonesomeness.
Erstwhile minds backpedaled on leather seats
where stale memories surfaced and breathed new air
striking deals in brown cubicles
under the breath of fresh coffee.
What she feared most
kicked and scratched
and wanted to grow big enough to crawl
from the backseat of a yellow Pantera
and seduce her all over again
while her husband and she waited
for his father to sign the lease
as wordy as Shakespeare but lacking any color.
She stayed away from the thing of her past
that once bit her crotch for the taste of her sex.
Some memories are the turmoil
of a soul knotted like hair in vomit
where forlornness and tumultuousness sting.