Sunday, July 5, 2015


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


  1. What a delightful poem indeed. Well done!

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

  3. your words make a perfect circle and explode !

  4. Fine, fine work.

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

  6. 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.

  7. 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.

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

  9. The ending is wonderful ... so unexpected.

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

  11. 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...


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