Poetry

Summer in Los Angeles

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 POETRY

Summer In Los Angeles by Barbara O'Dair    

The soiled pillowslip – memorable.

His desire to “make love like tigers” – memorable.

The verb he used to describe what the tigers would do – unmemorable.

The slime on the floor of his bathtub – memorable.

The knocked-over cup of beer – half-memorable.

The morning light – memorable.

His slitted eyes and trembling mouth – memorable.

Breakfast and lunch – unmemorable.

The visit to the beachside home of his ex-wife’s friends – unmemorable.

The kiss on the sand – unmemorable.

The book, the laughing – unmemorable.

Him not laughing – memorable.

The feeling of swimming through viscous water – memorable.

The feeling of fear – memorable.

The way he looked over the ocean – unmemorable.

His skinny legs – unmemorable.

The Polaroid image stuck in picture frame – memorable.

The framed letter from his dead Dad – memorable.

The beatings received from his Dad while alive – unmemorable.

The tales of beatings – memorable.

The hours in the airport lounge – memorable.

The long distance telephone calls – unmemorable.

The long distance telephone call – memorable.

©2000 Barbara O’Dair and Nerve.com, Inc.