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Joe, The Poet
He, with the
broad freckled face and riveting green eyes,
take another look
at his edgy tattoo
coming out from
under his baggie shorts long to mid-calf,
dresses young
like a beachcomber,
whose pants slip
off with a single gesture,
no underwear,
big pockets to
tuck poems into,
and shells and
whole crabs and sides
of small boats
beached just for him
to swallow whole
into his vast collection of stuff,
from the engine
that roars all day, all night,
rising to expand,
withdrawing to the edges of itself
and then from his
belly the poem vibrates
as he talks of
trucks and deserts
and the
wilderness of sexual pursuits
in the original
woman/man garden.
Carol Moscrip co-edited Beatlick Joe Speer's posthumous collection 'Backpack Trekker: A 60's Flashback'.
Carol knew Joe well. They were friends in Albuquerque long before I met him.
ReplyDeleteHer poem is lovely. It received some very positive comments. My thanks to Carol and you for letting me use it.
ReplyDeleteHer poem is lovely and a wonderful rememberancce
ReplyDeleteShe paints such a clear picture of Joe I can see him in my mind's eye, real and alive.
ReplyDelete