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Some Gangster Pain
By Gillian Conoley
Eunice is tired of pain, everyone
else's.
She wants some gangster pain,
to strut her thick ivories
in a collision of dreams, the
pajamas-to-work
dream, the magnolia siege dream.
What ya got there Eunice, say
Johnny and the boys.
Eunice lives behind the bus,
another fleeing place,
riot of exhaust. She doesn't
have much to say,
but she says it, hello.
When the boys talk
she feels the mole on her cheek
shift to the corner she took.
She sees them snap their fingers
to no dog. She knows
they wouldn't understand.
She knows her feet point
themselves forward
but she keeps walking backwards in
rain,
her heels too fast, or the rain
seeps
into trees, she can't tell. She
likes this street.
Johnny and the boys got on
jackets that twitch.
Eunice wears a lot of accessories.
The boys
paint a circle on the wall
the color of lips.
Source: Some Gangster Pain (1987) |