1,
He throws his
muscle onto
the beach
each swaggering
step a flex in
time.
As the
bodybuilder
struts to
shore
a seagull
crosses
the sky
she must
fly–
2.
His abs and thighs
memories of flesh
from no specific
man from bodies
that no longer
exist–
now he stretches.
(c) Rob Goldstein 2017 All Rights Reserved
Persephone plods relentlessly towards Hell.
Great drifts of snow form a tunnel along Union Turnpike.
Everything is grey: grey snow from a grey sky on grey
buildings.
Persephone rolls her eyes at the writer; perseveration of
thought is the sign of an overwrought mind.
Yet, she does consider the landscape grey
“Alla Saints an’ Mother Theresa coul’na saved me!” laughs Hades
with a puff on his cigar.
He’s just told the story of how, as a young Catholic converting a Jew in Switzerland, he was chased by a pack of Protestant dogs.
“My twisted sister!” Persephone hikes her skirt; that story never fails to impress.
“Hades,” she says, “about Felique…”
“I don’t have your precious Felique!”
Nevertheless, she persisted: “But you must!”
Hades relaxes and chuckles affectionately: “Of course I must. She’s in the Garden playing with dolls. She’d love to see you.”
Persephone is confused: “What was that business with the hag in the mirror?”
“You know how the writer likes special effects.”
“And Felique…?”
“She’s a little girl named Trina.”
“I see…and, whose Hell is this?
“Cocteau’s, do you like it?”
Persephone examines one of Lucifer’s paintings and smiles: “Life is like a skyscraper on quicksand.”
(c) Rob Goldstein 2017 All Rights Reserved
Felique Duprix sang a gentle lullaby to the little girl clamped between her knees.
“Ladies and Gentlemen/Take my advice, pull down your pants/And slide on hot ice”
The girl’s Mother wept when the train rolled out of Hootersville but Stella knew it was for the best; her little girl would lead a more charming and sophisticated life with Felique.
“Stella,” said Felique, “Take off that tacky dress and give me your daughter.”
Now, the little girl is a prisoner on the Amtrak to Hell.
The train rocked and rocked and a South of the Border rolled by.
“I want my Muthuh!” said the girl.
A South of the Border rolls by…
“A hag in rags?” replied Felique.
A South of the Border rolled by…
“But she’s my Muthuh.”
A South of the Border rolls by…
“Well. So is God in his own way!”
A South of the Border rolls by…
The little girl pulls out her notebook
and writes a poem:
Mommy cried
when
Trina left.
tiny lizards
with
sharp little
teeth
fell from
her eyes
and ran down
her
cheeks.
She closes her notebook and waits:
a South of the Border rolls by.
(c) Rob Goldstein 2017 All Rights Reserved
I went to the market just the other day
To get some toilet paper in a desperate way
I grabbed a roll an took a poll
“Is it used up for you in a day or so?”
A man in the checkout line smiled and said:
You one silly faggot right outta your head!
I use it scented, I use it mean.
I’m all wiped up like a clean machine!
So I went on home with that in mind
and unrolled a scroll before Suppertime.
Funky Cold Medina – Tone Loc
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Image and poem (c) Rob Goldstein January 1986 All Rights reserved
A Book of devotional poetry with black & white photography by Janavi Held
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