Spit
The street spit in my face.
I can't wipe it off. I can't wipe it
off
I tried to hire others to take a towel
and scrub it off.
They ran away, ran to a shopping center,
Bought a ticket to a movie about someone
called Evita.
I've offered all my possessions
If anyone could remove the spit.
When they saw what I owned, they laughed.
I offered my friendship,
But the offer brought even louder laughter.
I offered my love,
Heard the loudest laughter I've ever
heard in my whole life.
I was desperate. The spit was
sticky, even caused pain.
I went to an old Gypsy. She shuffled
her Tarot cards.
After taking my money, she said,
"There is only one way to get the spit
off your face.
A dark haired woman with auburn tints
in her hair
Must take off her dress, and with the
dress
Wipe the spit off your face."
I knew this woman. We had lunch together
yesterday.
I became resigned that the spit would
stay on my face forever.
(C) Copyright November,
1999
Duane Locke
All Rights Reserved
|
