The RetroLounge Daily Poem Thread (Thu 5/28/2009) (Warning, Sex Talk)

Whatever Works

“I never was much good at blow jobs,” she says, driving.
“Couldn’t get the right amount of pressure. Or maybe
it was him. He just didn’t like them. He said so:
‘maybe it’s me,’ he said. After awhile I just
stopped worrying about it, and here we are.” I’m
sitting in the back to keep an eye on her baby.
I nod, thinking what I know, what I don’t know. Old
music. Turn off that old radio music. The
baby’s crying. More night inside the car than out.
The baby’s crying despite she pulled over at the
rest stop to feed it just ten, twenty miles back. I keep
on pushing its rubber nipple at its mouth; it takes
it a moment then goes on crying. Finally,
entering the bridge, she reaches her arm back over
the seat, finds the baby’s mouth with her finger. It
knows her skin by taste. Mouths that finger, sucks it,
chews it, falls asleep. “Whatever works,” she says,
and keeps on driving fast and crooked around that way.

Daisy Fried

***************

:hi:

RL

:shrug:

RL

I like the realistic feel of this one...
Real life can be as poetic as we let it be, even in mundane things.

I'm on a poetry break ya know.

This seems like simple prose to me.

It has that stream of consciousnous stuff going.

I forget the name but I love a William-dude's prose put that way.

:hi:

EDIT: seemed like a good place for a dash.