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Amanda Newell: Two Poems

Poetry

Permanent Girl

She’s fifty now   tired of riding the blue anchor etched into his left
bicep    tired of being his USNA pinup girl   always fighting gravity   bubbled

tits & ass sagging on the freckled folds of his skin.  The things she’s seen!
The pool halls!   Sundays at Charles Town   the Hollywood Casino   his favorite.

Her legs cramp   she’s got varicose veins   numb fingers & toes   (from clinging
so long to the shank)      & furthermore    doesn’t like what she sees in the mirror

her face a gauzy blur   the frayed ends of her mermaid hair turning gray.
Long threads of silver have begun to sprout from her crotch   they make her itch.

She bleeds sometimes   leaves flakes of herself on his pillow.   He rests
his head on her when he sleeps      & though she tries to tell him to moisturize

her lips are perennially puckered  still   she’s his permanent girl!   No one has
lasted as long as she.   She knows what he likes in bed   what positions

she’s been there   seen the dog-eared pages of The Complete Guide to Sex
he keeps on his dresser      his drawer of vibrating   blinking cocks      but lately

she wonders what will happen when he dies      whether they’ll burn together
be buried together   in which case she   on his arm   will outlive him   (better

to wish for the laser   complete removal)      & by how many years      who can say

*

Black Angus

because he broke his knee in the move
from Shadow Lake where lurked
the ex-wife the ex-fiancée
his failures his life auctioned off
backhoe to coffee pot

I helped feed the cows
put my paddock boots on
told him I had some horses once
Patty Penny Ruffles Rick
I can muck the shit out of any stall
plus large animals don’t scare me

so what’s the bull’s name anyway

I’m a farmer he said I don’t give names
how ’bout Big Hairy Motherfucker

the bull was limping over to sniff
number ten’s ass
another day he said and she’ll be in
look how wet she is
those pink winking folds
but if he can’t stand on his haunches by then
his days here are numbered

which is what I keep thinking about my love
who has to stand these days
to get the fucking going too
it’s like jump starting an old car
you never know if it will go or for how long
but we love like this
roughly messily always hungrily
we do it any way we can

 

(Author photo by Jill Marie Boudoir)

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