For Us, It Is Always 9-10
We bowled open the heavy black door
And light bloated our faces
From the cellar, as freaks
Flooded in and out;
Destination: Taxi stand
Robust in your plastic wrap
And platform shoes
The boilers sobbing under your feet.
Every brouhaha was new then,
Every fight was golden,
That ghost-fishing night
I gave you away with your
Ludicrous plume to your anger
The diadem and feather fan
And the gold espadrilles
A complement of Meat Packing District Trannies
It was a beautiful drama in a prelapsarian blue light
Of dawn, always our address
The room where we poked each other in the hurt
To see where the hurt was
We still live there, some of us; because for us it is always 9-10
Two long stemmed lovers
With all these tomorrows frozen before us
A day still stiff in my knuckles with my lapels
A kiss waiting on a rouged mouth,
Still hanging to die
–Eric Rasmussen
(originally published March 19, 2007)
