three poems about a girl named Hannah –

30 Jun

when sleeping means sleep when we sleep together
an incessant knock wakes me at 2 am –
Hannah stands frozen in tears –
I let her in, sit at the edge of a bed,
and hold her –

I couldn’t get your key to work,
she says –
I laugh and smile and kiss her soft on trembling lips –

that’s why you’re cryin’?

a story spills across a hotel room –
something about a boy and a fight and bitter black word exchange –
a found key in the back pocket of tight faded jeans –

she strips without shame, crawls into bed, pats a pillow –
I know my shame and flip off the light before I accept her invitation –

we spoon together in a lovers embrace –
a free hand cups a firm small breast –
her snore meets my last kiss and I laugh yet again –



good morning, Hannah
a manic fog blows under the bathroom door, swirls
and dissipates, vanishes without a trace or hint of insincerity –
Hannah is singing in the shower –
strange songs without words only sounds, random syllables recoil
off walls covered in condensation –

the shower ends but the voice continues to reverberate, defeating the
deafening tone of a shaky air conditioner –
Hannah steps from the bathroom wearing nothing more than a towel on her head –
she smiles brightly, bounces into my arms and thanks me for a wonderful night –

buy me breakfast,

she says,
as I struggle to remember the night before and anything wonderful
I might be capable of –



one more day

I spent one more day with Hannah before hitting the highway back to my own desert in SoCal –
we went to breakfast, swam in the hotel pool, engaged in a variety of intimate acts until a startled maid
found us tangled on the floor –

I bought her shoes and a dress, lacy panties and a new bra; had the oil changed in her car; and, filled it with gas –
gave her my cell phone number and kiss, drove away with a slight smile of satisfaction –

Hannah compared me to her dad, how we were the same age, did similar things, held similar interests –
I hesitated once when an unsettling thought drifted into my head only to quickly push it aside –
in the heat of a particular moment –

it’s best know when to think and when to just keep fucking –


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One Response to “three poems about a girl named Hannah –”

  1. james darman July 1, 2011 at 6:42 am #

    JACK YOU PUSSYHOUND!!!

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