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Flower Child Poet
upon receiving a book of poetry from an old acquaintance
The way you pronounce your name
once fresh from girlish dreams
of beds and blankets, nakedness,
moonlight caressing thigh and breast
is filled with crease and spittle now
Goose bumps and sharing secrets
have given way to wrinkled neck
and cheeks, shadows on your upper lip
mark off those places where tweezers,
anti-ageing creams have written eulogies
to youth across your face
Armies of lovers who once filled
your pages, hints of musk
and moist explorations have been replaced
with memories of aunts and grandmothers
prayer books, knitting
boiled beef and gefilte fish
So now your graying photo on the
back cover, unmistakably over seventy
unmistakably Jewish, stares out at us—
we page through searching for some
remembered midnight whispers, some
throaty gasps. heaving and pink explosions
but find only cobwebs and museum gift shops
You could have fooled us with a pseudonym
but brave and bobby pinned you’ve chosen honesty,
closed that bedroom door forever
Oh how we miss you!
© Johnmichael Simon
2014
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