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.
Kiss it for me.
tk/July 2015
Is it just me, or is this sexy?
*Bathers, 1950 by George Tooker
What a delightful poem indeed. Well done!
ReplyDeleteFantastic.
ReplyDeleteSo good
ReplyDelete"I ask for a small portion,
ReplyDeletelike a cocktail olive
in a vodka martini." loved this line
your words make a perfect circle and explode !
ReplyDeleteFine, fine work.
ReplyDeleteThis is such a good write! Amen, sister, amen!
ReplyDeleteLove this, Tess!
ReplyDeleteLove 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.
ReplyDeleteOh 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.
ReplyDeleteFangs in or out ?
ReplyDeleteI like this salty bite. :-)
ReplyDeleteSexy ~ for sure! Look at what he had to work with!
ReplyDeleteThe ending is wonderful ... so unexpected.
ReplyDeleteLovely and I haven't thought of Mercurochrome in years! My mom always used it.
ReplyDeleteIt'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...
ReplyDelete