Sonnet 17 from “These Tattoos”

Published in Temple Journal 1993

My knees were the east and the west of Eden

when you kissed me on the crazy corner
of Columbus and Broadway; jazz spilling
from that two-tone Chevrolet at the light.
Chinese market windows filled with old duck
and trays of ginger; 2nd hand bookstore &
topless bars disappeared when you read me
the riot act for crossing boulevards
against the light when Saturday’s jumping.
You grabbed me under that old green lamp post,
no matter the dogs tied up and tangled,
and planted a big one on my dumb mouth.
In the bookstore’s lit window reflection:
Poetry stacked to the ceiling, and us.