THE RAPTURE OF FUNK
By Lenny Lewis
Two nights before Fredia
was due back
from elective castration
I carried her one-eyed
black dog down the stairs.
Both of us soaked
in his urine.
It was all he could do
to stand up. Tottering
in circles. Too weak to lift.
Urine simply leaked.
He ate cat feces
from the litter box.
A taste
I was loathe to acquire.
We’d shared days
of summer joy.
Skylarking from one
concert in a park
to another.
Fond memories.
Good memories gone.
Blackie nearly so.
As I held him
on the sidewalk
out of my half-wit
delirium appeared
a scarlet harlot.
It had to be
a mad fantasy
for us both.
Drop dead gorgeous.
Curves for days.
Snow White loveliness
Beauty queen on night street.
Down low. On the rebound?
Oh the impediments
to love.
Bed bugs and dog urine.
It was beyond
the rapture of funk.
I burned her
with my eyes
before she smelled us.
Instant whiplash.
Between fear
and
“I can do that”
on her face.
“Honey, no we can’t”
Come early October
Blackie’s spirit will visit me.
As for the lady in red
we have what was
and
what might have been.
About the Author:
Lenny is a jack of all trades. Frequently to be found working as a carney. South in the winter. Coney Island in summer.