Sunday, July 5, 2015

Alkali


The salt of the earth
is not known for a bedside
manner. Theirs is not for tasting
the white of an egg, but predatory,
sponged and purged, rubbed
in war wounds, blood-red
as Mercurochrome.

Why trade in such certainties?
Let them roll like Jujitsu, tumble
easy, as water off a duck’s back,
salting icy roads instead of tears.

I ask for a small portion,
like a cocktail olive
in a vodka martini.

It’s just a scratch.
Kiss it for me.



tk/July 2015



Is it just me, or is this sexy? 



*Bathers, 1950 by George Tooker

16 comments:

  1. What a delightful poem indeed. Well done!

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  2. "I ask for a small portion,
    like a cocktail olive
    in a vodka martini." loved this line

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  3. your words make a perfect circle and explode !

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  4. This is such a good write! Amen, sister, amen!

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  5. Love how a couple of cliches roll easily into the descriptive flow of the poem. And the salt thread twists the poem into a neat little final love knot.

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  6. Oh I love this from start to end. To start with a biblical metaphor and go to an olive in a martini is quite a trip.

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  7. Sexy ~ for sure! Look at what he had to work with!

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  8. The ending is wonderful ... so unexpected.

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  9. Lovely and I haven't thought of Mercurochrome in years! My mom always used it.

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  10. It's not just you. The way he says "cocktail olive in a vodka martini" sends all kinds of shivers to all kinds of places. Let's not even discuss the last line...

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Inject a few raisins of conversation into the tasteless dough of existence.
― O. Henry (and me)