03-27-2012, 06:20 AM
Rooming house rooms are cheap,
and there are front porches
and swings to sit in,
smoke and drink beer--
men in undershirts,
women braless sitting back.
Bodies air out in quiet
neighborhood air, elm trees branches
rustle making shadows in leafwork.
No rat race for sex here--
most are all loved-out,
given to a kind of malaise
that occupies the minds of old
stallions standing in a field
watching mares unload from a trailer
and then eye-following
their twitching tails
But sex is not lost to the mind,
for Janeen lives here in dresses
always Five and Dime-- Janeen
molding and molting inside, slip-sliding
in such wondrous ways when she
leaves the swing and goes inside,
her swish warning eyes away
from setting too close.
Janeen's rooms on the third floor.
Old man Batholdi's a door down
toward the circled third-floor veranda.
These third-floor rooms open
temperate for their purpose--
every gashed wallpaper tear and
times painted chest-of-drawers.
Cracker Jack romanced Janeen up here
in her one-bed bedroom, Batholdi fell
asleep with a racing form
in his lap. Cracker's lips fastened
on Janeen's cheek and smacked.
They held hands and listened to the
radio. Batholdi won $200 in the third
at Belmont two years ago
and still remembers the girl cashier
was beautiful and had long fingers.
Janeen, "Goodnight Cracker."
Cracker came to town in an railcar,
a papyrus ark, dirty hat pulled low
across his face-- Alma's Rooms
on English Street seemed just the ticket,
a block south of Douglas,
one house west of Patti. A King's X
hamburger stand and Ceros Ice Cream Parlour
on the corner of Patti and Douglas.
Within a short walk,
And the river a mile away.
"Goodnight Janeen-- sleep tight."
The cadence of life here at Alma's
so carefully controlled, so happily mild,
reeking its way along
with the best of all possible reeks.
Nothing self-conscious, a little Puritan,
but lots of the weary sensuality
and fleshy aromas of one-bath-a-week
allowed in the four-legged tub.
Kansan and Nebraskan and Oklahomian.
These third-floor rooms--
transfuse into English Street's bloodstream,
into the wistful lewdness of Janeen's
telling a bawdy story of the most consummate
nasty boy ever to touch her leg past her knee.
Rooms
Out on the porch sitters
watch glow bugs light the night,
hear locusts sing.
Janeen's light goes dim.
The Gemini are out. Discouroi.
One called the Morning Star
and one the Evening Star-- listen
'slish, slish'-- the sound of a dress.
Janeen's coming down the stairs.
"Anyone object if I take my bath tonight?"
Lannie Lou gets up from a chair.
"Let's take it together.
My turn, but I'll share."
rh
and there are front porches
and swings to sit in,
smoke and drink beer--
men in undershirts,
women braless sitting back.
Bodies air out in quiet
neighborhood air, elm trees branches
rustle making shadows in leafwork.
No rat race for sex here--
most are all loved-out,
given to a kind of malaise
that occupies the minds of old
stallions standing in a field
watching mares unload from a trailer
and then eye-following
their twitching tails
But sex is not lost to the mind,
for Janeen lives here in dresses
always Five and Dime-- Janeen
molding and molting inside, slip-sliding
in such wondrous ways when she
leaves the swing and goes inside,
her swish warning eyes away
from setting too close.
Janeen's rooms on the third floor.
Old man Batholdi's a door down
toward the circled third-floor veranda.
These third-floor rooms open
temperate for their purpose--
every gashed wallpaper tear and
times painted chest-of-drawers.
Cracker Jack romanced Janeen up here
in her one-bed bedroom, Batholdi fell
asleep with a racing form
in his lap. Cracker's lips fastened
on Janeen's cheek and smacked.
They held hands and listened to the
radio. Batholdi won $200 in the third
at Belmont two years ago
and still remembers the girl cashier
was beautiful and had long fingers.
Janeen, "Goodnight Cracker."
Cracker came to town in an railcar,
a papyrus ark, dirty hat pulled low
across his face-- Alma's Rooms
on English Street seemed just the ticket,
a block south of Douglas,
one house west of Patti. A King's X
hamburger stand and Ceros Ice Cream Parlour
on the corner of Patti and Douglas.
Within a short walk,
And the river a mile away.
"Goodnight Janeen-- sleep tight."
The cadence of life here at Alma's
so carefully controlled, so happily mild,
reeking its way along
with the best of all possible reeks.
Nothing self-conscious, a little Puritan,
but lots of the weary sensuality
and fleshy aromas of one-bath-a-week
allowed in the four-legged tub.
Kansan and Nebraskan and Oklahomian.
These third-floor rooms--
transfuse into English Street's bloodstream,
into the wistful lewdness of Janeen's
telling a bawdy story of the most consummate
nasty boy ever to touch her leg past her knee.
Rooms
Out on the porch sitters
watch glow bugs light the night,
hear locusts sing.
Janeen's light goes dim.
The Gemini are out. Discouroi.
One called the Morning Star
and one the Evening Star-- listen
'slish, slish'-- the sound of a dress.
Janeen's coming down the stairs.
"Anyone object if I take my bath tonight?"
Lannie Lou gets up from a chair.
"Let's take it together.
My turn, but I'll share."
rh