by Jeff Glovsky, Writing


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 Stories by Jglo

 original “faction” by Jeff Glovsky

"Contact" by Jeff Glovsky, Strawberry Press Magazine

Now smoking in a doorway cross the street, I watch Cristina leave:  She stumbles out the door and down the stoop, sways sideways like a crab…Grows sober as she peers around, pretends not even to be looking:  calm, she lights a cigarette, and plays she’s taking in the night.

… She looks so damn ridiculous, I can’t announce myself!


* * *

“In/Eternal”, ©Jeff Glovsky

Happy memories flood a little: Pedro with his gimp, and fleshpot offers (“Zhu wan’ womens?”)… There was Voula, on that balcony: thick stockings ripped about high waist and sweating as she blew me (hair like flooding hay cascade), full moon over Kifissias… Greek smiles, and an ancient tongue…

Oh! Pray to be alive still.


* * *

I make it to the edge of Market Street, where people finally glow.  I stumble through the neon, down the crusted, naughty pavement; past the porno barns and donut shops, the hookers and all-night transvestites… Old-eyed, gorgeous-bodied, full Brazilians swipe their tongues at me…

“Bus to Anaheim”

* * *

At Cadillac and Venice, I stand waiting for a bus or taxi… Car pulls up, rolls down its window.  Upper middle-aged guy with a crew cut leans and says to me, “Hey, what are they? A couple of whores?”

He sits there, waiting for an answer.

“Left Coastin’ (Some LA Scenes)”

* * *

Standing like stone at Prytania and Terpsichore…Wishing they’d won that Civil War.

… In New Orleans, they dance to Koko Taylor.  Sit out on their civil porches, naked, flood their war-torn streets… Don’t never go to Bourbon or the Quarter but to sweat.

“South Rise”

* * *

I think of vulnerability with Rivka. Also trust, and caring… Rivka seemed to care a lot.  While others might flop noisily, then want only to crash (like me)… Warm Rivka’d stay awake, engaged.  Sit cross-legged in the middle of the bed, like a Thanksgiving prayer… Or splay out like a cat about to side-stroke cross a swimming pool… Or simply lay beside me.  But the whole time, with great eyes on mine, like we were meaning something.

“The Venezuelan Dairy Case”

* * *

Husbands all wave dumbly from bland stations.  Love steams in and out.

Kids twist the scene, and scream, and make us long for infancy ourselves … We go on waving dumbly.

Years, like chestnuts, crash and shrivel pointlessly into the earth.  We join them finally, most of us, with never having tasted Carmen Aragon.

I’ll find her …

random SHORTS

from Underwear Woman Digs the Sea
more Stories by Jglo 
(Long Reads too
& Random Poetix)

by Jeff Glovskyby Jeff Glovsky