Saturday, March 12, 2005

Anne Marie's Lover

I saw Ann Marie standing by the import rack
down at the local record store's basement
a big chunk of her shiny black hair
hiding half of her pockmarked complexion
the dark short spikes concealed her simper
but failed to protect her neck and her back
from the fluorescent lamps and from my prying eyes.
Long, pale and blue as the New York City winter
thick legs curved like silver snakes twirling
towering, wrapping around each other
stout but strong thighs
the child-bearing hips of a young single mother.


An unlit, clumsy cigarette
dangling daringly and dangerously
at the verge of her open mouth
hanging on for dear life, half loose, half stuck
to her round and fleshy left bottom bulb
Long and slender, wet and swollen
branded with the lipstick of its owner
advancing and retreating, in a long passionate kiss
in perfect sync with her heavy breathing
her companion, her lover, her kisser
the thing she loved the most, her victim


Ankle-high black army boots
spray-painted with graffiti and Brooklyn mud
multiple rips in her black fishnets
multiple holes in her rose earlobes
filled with neither gold nor silver
shut closed and empty like dead flowers
like tiny black crosses on the side of a deadly highway
short, thick black hair and short black skirt
black blouse, black eye shadow, black nails
Anne Marie's fingers moved like a thief at night
scanning and searching like military searchlights
in the midst of a pitch-black Brooklyn sky


Someone called her name
her head turned swiftly
her lips shaken with the violent motion
gravity, inertia, and other secretive forces
plotting like grassy knoll lone gunmen,
conspiring like jealous politicians
like most greek gods, like all greek poisons
A sudden sense of sadness overcame me
I pitied her companion, her lover, her kisser
as it shot out like a bullet from her pouty mouth
and landed deadly wounded at my feet.
An innocent bystander, a voyeur
I contemplated for a brief second or two
lost in the curved space of this urban tragedy
but she, abruptly and decisively
put an end to any and all my sympathetic thoughts
by brutally stomping and squashing
and killing the thing she thought she loved the most

Bay Ridge, NY March 1995

© 1995 Alberto Ruiz. All Rights Reserved