Pro Model Tells Story

By | 1 July 1999

it’s not like i’m attached
to all these camelcoats,
long, short &
floppy (big buttons),
short & tight (big
buttons): i mean i would give them just
give them
to any girl off the bus,
stairs tar black corduroy
and the driver, her relaxed
hair, wide-wheels through left
turn signals in deep, slovenly
rain, i’d give her one.

it’s just when i get stuck across
town in the rain by that fish
shop overlooking the ocean,
whole rows of these
fish shops and it’s raining, then
i do need a coat as i wait like
my pig-tailed chewing lips debated
for mother to pick up but
it’s so far away and there’s
nothing worse than your
teenager having some
job where you hafta go
fetch her half across

but when you get a large green
newsmelly plush, well you still
don’t want to be at the
beck-&-call of some teenage

& your progeny’s buying a little sportscar like a girl in a film, even a
& she just wonders, mother
Victoria, oh Victoria!—the map of
where i was,

He gave narrative, tenderness,
solicitude & doubt. photos of the two
of us labelled everywhere. I walk through shelves and streets of

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