poem of the day 07.10.14

all life is suffering

i don’t know where calvin found her

because he was always so upstanding

and his mother tried her hardest to keep him

locked up on friday nights

but there she was in our booth

dressed in black with black hair and black lipstick

a bloody mary in her hand

and a clove cigarette in the ashtray

i’m a wiccan, she said

i can do all kinds of spells and curses

are you responsible for my two year sex drought? i asked

maybe, she said.

she sucked on her drink and then sucked on her smoke

she winked at me

and everything around us smelt like cinnamon

you mean you don’t believe in jesus? calvin asked

i believe in the environment around us

and the magic of sex, she told us

we believe that religion and magic and wisdom are all united

you don’t know many catholics do you? i said

catholics will kill you where you stand

there’s a reason for your two year drought, she said

you’re angry, you’re not open enough

then she winked at me again

i started thinking about having sex with this wiccan

this wicked witch of pittsburgh

chanting naked in the woods

drinking deer blood and dancing around a fire

sacrificing whole neighborhoods of working stiffs

then praying to the moon

before we made tantric love on the cold ground

a little less angry

a little bit more open

her black lipstick on my neck

when she said, calvin, we do it just like everyone else

in committed, loving, monogamous relationships

then she winked at me a third time

before i got up to get another beer

and a shot of cheap bourbon

pumping dollars into the jukebox

thinking that only the buddhists

have never let me down.