[Dan Scheltema]

I can try...


Flush


I held her hair as she leaned to the bowl
and tossed her guts another time or three.
"But for the grace of God that would be me,"
I thought, and wondered at the whole
unlikely night, the meeting in the bar,
the proffered drink, the glance, the smile, the nod,
"God, but she has the most divine, unreal, voluptuous bod,"
time flew, drinks drained, I led her to my car.

That was, I think, tomorrow seven years.
Now kneeling in a splash of gastric juice,
my arms embracing white, my head bent low,
I feel her hand brush back my flopping fears.
(How could I ever see in arms a noose?)
She hits the flush, I watch the waters flow.