by Jeff Glovsky, Works in Progress, Writing

‘R’ You … ?

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Ripe Delicious

 by Jeff Glovsky

Taste her squirming, nighttime, on that park bench, midtown Broadway.  Like her spice sweet happy smile, bright young laughing, birdlike eyes and hair all wild, like a porno morning after, or a teenager.

She’s 21.

* * *

Apple ripe and bursting wide tight seams, once secret places…and I’ve tasted.  Like the greatest hearts and tongues of her g-generation…

I’m The Who.  She’s heard of Paul McCartney once, or maybe…She’s a baby!

My grey nose hairs twitch.

* * *

Like two ships crashing down round the tip of an iceberg; meeting by chance in a hot summer rain, neither having umbrellas…Sharing some pain, laughter, loneliness…Nuns at a conjugal supper.

…Not sure what that means …

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Ripe, Delicious

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Round Trip

by Jeff Glovsky

Palm stretched over, purple leotard, and hair, blue-black and wine-drunk like the lips we bit and sucked on…Legs up, back against that fenced off lot near Soutine’s, off Columbus; legs a ripe mélange of ass and ocean…Panties in my teeth and spitting hair from out my nostrils.

* * *

In Buchs, in Switzerland, repeat the scene, but this time it’s a phone booth. We play Superman, and spin around and turn each other out…The Alpines ring us like disease; emasculate our selflessness, elaborate our flaws…

It’s cold here. 

* * *

New York, you come again…We come.  And meet again, and then…we shudder, coughing, roaring at the small joke of the world.

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Round Trip

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Remember(ing) Laughter

 by Jeff Glovsky

When my dad turned 50 years old, he did a little ‘river dance‘ on his birthday cake.

* * *

Stamping like a person one-tenth his age in the frosting, and crushing “5” and “0” candles beneath his still shoe-clad feet, he ceased misbehaving only when my mom burst, literally, Lucille Ball-like into tears.

* * *

My friend Mike and I had been arguing that day over which of us was going to be Hawkeye Pierce … and more importantly, which one of us was going to go downstairs and eat birthday cake wearing the dirty bathrobe my brother and I had laying around the floor of our bedroom?

* * *

Just then, my brother (Major Winchester) burst in.  “Dad smashed his birthday cake on the floor!”

I didn’t hear what he said at first — flailing, in a headlock, as I was — but eventually, as the words sank in — and as my best friend Mike released his grip — I realized that neither of us would be needing the bathrobe …

There wasn’t any birthday cake to be eaten!

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Remember(ing) Laughter

 

Photo of Jglo - Jeff Glovsky laugh


Pieces of 'H' / 'R' You ... ?
Members Lounge: some Random Poetix

by Jeff Glovsky
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