Hey! With the story, then the poetry, it's kind of like a "Behind the Music" special in that now you know all this important stuff about what the lyrics really mean when you listen to the songs again.

You've been "Behind the Boy."

I'd like to point out that this was well over six years ago, and that any hating should be done on the Old Me, not the Me Now. Also, this is the first time these poems have appeared on this site.

Electric Delicious
Being near you
is licking a 9 Volt battery
exciting as hell
The danger looming
The pleasure swelling
You bring out
the passionate woman in me
Draw the current down my back
with your electric fingers
Being near you
is eating a slice
of ripe cantaloupe
perfect and sweet
deritido
melted
cool on my lips
irresistible delicious
You bring out
the sensual tropics in me
Inspired to savor
every moment
being near you
is beaches and roadtrips
new socks
soft sheets
coral reefs
collecting rocks
and fast hard music
sunburns
origami flowers
crickets on the sidewalk
countless
countless
countless
everything good
being near you is right

Pockets
When a man keeps
his pants pockets full
it signifies stiffness
and a quick exit
So when a man empties
his pockets
I get excited
The thud of a wallet
as it falls against
my coffee table
makes me giggle inside
because it means comfort
and loving
The moment he does this
I relax
I am disarmed
What I hate
is the final round up
Finding their license
or house key
by the light
of the T.V.
That’s goodbye
and the more thorough
they are
the less they want to forget something
they might have to come back for
More than once
I have found
only loose change left behind
A nickel and a penny
Two lonely dimes
They are sad
lying there
Insignificant
and abandoned
Goodbye pockets
Goodbye

No Games
I want a man
who drives a pick-up truck
I want a man
who wears flannel
and watches football
A simple man
uncomplicated
one-dimensional
so I can last and last
because I would be simple too
no art or arguments
Just the man
with a sandwich
on my sofa
smiling contentedly
A golden retriever of a mate
All-American
stubbornly ignorant
so that I could never enlighten him
or even try
Easy
just like using a deck of cards
to build houses
but never playing any games

Tim
I.
He speaks
and the voice draws me into his thoughts
He smiles
and I see the sun
go down behind a tidepool
Then I feel a smart salty breeze
run its fingers over my cheek
and pin a rose there
quietly
I watch him doing
nothing at all
and absolutely love it
because of his effortless grace
his bold jaw working silently
his olive skin glowing
in the half light of this room

II.
Shadows dance
over his beautiful brow
he is an Aztec god
his muscular arms
with strong steady hands at the ends of them
could wrap around the ocean twice
then two times over me
His dark eyes look over
His smile
which spreads widely
and easily
like an eagle’s wings
makes me have to smile too
just happy
to see him happy

Making the Bed
A bed with me in it
is empty
the sheets lie despondent beneath me
my pillow holds no comfort
as I sprawl across the whole thing
trying to make up
for
a l l
that empty space
trying to stay warm or safe

But with you!

A bed with you in it
is alive and amazing
sighing beneath us together
I am invincible and fearless
beautiful and smart
Then
when you are gone
it is as it was
quiet and sad
only an echo of your voice
punctuating the silence

McBitch
I am the newest
I am the best
I am different from any woman
you have ever known
the prefabricated
reheated ones
who
in a line
look more alike
than you could ever have imagined
I am fresh and delicious
not some McBitch
Their eyes
next to mine
are lifeless
like fingernails
Words
are all the same
until they fall out of my mouth
and when I tell it
you know
that I am hand crafted
from alabaster
not some clay pot
I am
the lovebird
on a ledge full of pigeons
those winged rats
can not carry your heart home
the way I can
And I wish you knew
when she is Amish country
I wish you could see
the warm Indian night
of my breast
the cool drink of my thigh
I wish I could take you there
But you don’t know
and you can’t see
it doesn’t matter
the Bird of Paradise
falls over dead
in a field full of dandelions

Still the Mistress
I thought,
on the way home from the bar.
Still lapping up another girls puddle.
It’s hers/it’s mine/it’s hers/it’s mine.
The glowing eyes
of a run-down cat
accost me on the highway.
Yes, I am the mistress,
the unscrupulous charming whore.
If you’re wise,
keep that man away from me,
because I will slip
into the mediocre slit of a relationship
you claim to have
and rock the very foundation
of fidelity.
I like to get close.
I like to pretend that I
am the woman
whose name is uttered in dreams.
I like to believe that a man thinks of me
and equates me
with beauty, love, honor.
Even though I know none of it is true.
The other woman
merits no honor.
It is automatically revoked
at the first anxious
forbidden kiss.
But I borrow,
I steal.
I am a rat
in the pantry,
glutting myself on rice cakes
and maraschino cherries.
No amount of fumigation
will rid your love
of this parasitic pest.

One day
there will be a man
all my own,
who does equate me with those things
(also art and sweetness)
I will no longer feed
on discarded romances,
but feast
on a love all my own.

That day,
I will set out traps,
seal my jars,
spray repellent--
because I know how they chance
upon unattended bags of rice
and leave tiny rat turds
to let you know they’ve been there.

One day
it will happen for me.

Until then,
I creep,
hidden in the dark recess
of dissatisfaction.
There is plenty of room here
and you will never find me,
because you never look.

Your finest slice of cheese
it is all for me.
You will never find me.
You will never win.

The Last Marlboro
That cigarette pack was there
on my coffee table
for so long,
the last Marlboro Light
sitting in it.
Your last Marlboro Light,
forgotten,
in the morning
when you left.
The light from outside
played in the foil
and on the gold in the logo.
I let it sit there
for days
until I couldn’t take it anymore
and you hadn’t called.
Then I lit the last Marlboro,
and I smoked that cigarette
so deep and fast,
you would have got a hard-on
just watching.
I stubbed it out
with violence at the end
into my green ceramic ashtray.
Full of anger,
seething bitter,
your mistress
enraged
Forgotten
in the morning
when you left.