red sofa
The song begins
"I met my old lover
on the street last night,"
and--well--this is not
the same, but I met
my old lover's then-new,
now-old couch
on the street last night.
I could never forget it
or mistake another for it,
but I stopped the car to
confirm my find:
...
Slow, deep bass notes
rolled across the street;
but closer to the sofa
The Wind Cries Mary cried
in humming sound waves
under the freeway overpass--
as if the sofa held onto
a soundtrack of our
free ways with one another.
The red sofa still smelled of
scented candles, pot, Cheetos,
and our sex;
in its velvet skin
were waxes of varied colors,
small burns from hot seeds and
smoking embers, orange grease,
sweet-&-sour droplets dried in
subtle patterns of bump-&-grind.
I found my scratch marks
on the back behind,
the imprints of your knees
on the arms,
a yank of long blond hair,
the tip of a piece of leather strap,
and a piece of paper
crammed into the seat
against the back rubbed raw:
...
the cover from your
copy of the Kama Sutra
with my goodbye note
written on the other side.
MLydiaM ~ November 2011
Visit Magpie Tales to read other Mag 93s inspired by the photo prompt above (photo by Christine Donnier-Valentin). Want to give a nod to Mark Kerstetter whose "Wild" prompt at dVerse Poets for this week's Poetics set the tone for this particular magpie.
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