Well, I think I'll read all about four or more fairly
short poems.
These are older poems from my book, The Lost Pilot.
As long as I'm reading filth, I might as well
read this one called "Coming Down Cleveland Avenue."
The fumes from all kinds of machines have dirtied the snow.
You proposed to polish it.
The miles between home and wherever
you and your Lily of a woman might go, you go.
Pale brush and suds scrubbing down
Cleveland Avenue toward the Hartford Life Insurance
Company.
No one appreciates your effort and one important character
calls you a baboon but pretty soon, your darling
jumps out of an elevator and kisses
you and you sing and tell her to walk the White Plains proudly.
At one point, you even lay down your coat and she in turn
puts hers down for you.
And you put your shirt down and she her blouse and your pants
and her skirt, shoes, removes her lavender underwear
and you slip into her proud white skin.
[LAUGHTER]
It seemed like a little boy tinkling about four rooms away.
[LAUGHTER]