What I Know

What I know about this city would fit inside a box
The size of my lover's two room apartment
With the shades half drawn on the view of the alley
Newspapers, magazine, sox, shoes, Chinese take out cartons
On the floor, a blooming amaryllis,
Stereo pounding out some NRBQ
We're reeling around the room in some hambone highland swing
Until he jams his toe against a chair and turns the air blue

My lover watches me paint my toes
I watch him shaving in the mirror
He says — did I ever tell you how I got this scar here
Or this scar here?
Yeah, I was pretty dangerous and I was pretty
Oh yeah, I was pretty, guess it's good you didn't know me when
I always knew the path between my fist and the other guy's face
Which goes hand in hand in hand in hand with taking it on the chin
Yeah, oh what I wouldn't have done back then
to feel my heart still thrashing
Drive fast, fight rough, love wrong, drink hard
And maybe I never really changed all that much
I just paid the lawyer with a credit card

My lover watches teevee with the sound turned down
Strumming his guitar and singing — hmm hmm
A-hmm baby hmm, hey baby hey
Ooh ooh I'm talking about hey hey hey hey hey
Yeah, I got this Gibson from my uncle Jim when I was twenty and
I got this lick from Albert Collins "--------"
Man that man could move!!
You know if it don't have that greasy groove
I hear my mother calling

My lover falls asleep between the words of the story he is telling
Something about a flame and the hair on his chest
I watch him curled beside me in our dark cave of blankets
Like a bear or something dangerous and wild
but, for the moment, at rest
And I think of all the stories and the inventory
Fingers he has counted on, pointing past point A
The vectors and trajectories, speculative geometry
Scares me so crazy I want to run away
I say — hey, which way is Jersey? No, I'm going to stay
And hear the rest of that story, find out just what was burning
Because I will not be afraid to be afraid to be afraid of you
And then I kiss him on the wishbone of his sternum

©2000 Annie Gallup