The old ladies in black will say
he drained off his life
by the gallon,
drove too fast on chrome-plated
bikes in the red hills near Sedona,
picked up pouty-faced women
reeking of perfume and hairspray,
wasted his money on Gucci and cashmere
now discarded and dusty
strewn on his closet floor.

I'll say
he gulped life down like he was starving,
drove fast for the sweet rush of wind
hard on his body
loved well, but not always wisely,
and that his hands were warm on my face
when he kissed me.

Pris Campbell

This poem was published in the May 2002 issue of Limestone Circle.

visit Poetic Inspirations the web site of Pris Campbell