photo-2They took away the girl
everyone would bend to touch
her shiny black hair and
brown skin looking like
peaches had feasted inside her DNA
they took her to Hollywood
after a month put her in private school
because the crips and the bloods
fought over her peaches
she turned instead to
white powder and a fine gram
of friendship
her letters became erratic
once she called at 3am
I’m in town
qua? qua? you mean the city?
Yes I’m here! Can you see me?
It’s 3am, where are you?
I’m at the house of some band, they’re number 2 in the charts, I can’t remember I can’t remember
the line went dead
like a cat leaning in to lick its fur
once when working behind a bar
mixing paltry tips and bad cocktails
she came by, her eyes all moon-glazed
with three stingy young men
who looked like they could
bathe more frequently
we hugged and she still smelt
of patchouli and faraway loss
my chest ached
meet me at the party she said
waving with her finger tips
like a starlet biting into pomegranate
I knew she wouldn’t go
turning up wearing my best
pretending my old shoes were new
most of the band
snorting off each others wrists
like cats with cream
I asked
have you seen Dominique?
they offered me a line and said
I ran away from camp with a girl
called Selene, the child of an
Italian Viscount
after I called my grandma reverse charge
from the countryside pub
he came up with his chauffeur
thanked me for getting his daughter out
offered me a ride home
my father asked
how do you know those kinds of people?
a week later she called
we have someone in common
you know Dominique?
you mean the girl with peaches in her
I grabbed my keys
we met outside as the sun went down
Selene was the kind of girl
Dominique would mooch off
I had nothing to give
my hands were too wide
my shoulders freckle
I didn’t look good with bare legs
or see-through tops
they danced near the stage
like two jars of honey
I knew then I’d watch from afar
girls like Dominique marry
stars and future heirs
still unfulfilled looking for the
next train to take them away
out of their pain
that’s why she always calls
early morning before
the sun has risen
in the same voice
sounding like all the records we played
until they crackled
under scratches
she laughed in her whiskey tone
I stole a rich man’s wallet
I’m calling on his Gold Card
we can talk until the sun comes up
in your part of the world