September 9, 2010

She spoke the language of love
with a strong Eastern European accent
Everywhere she went, losers would pretend
to be confident men
and speak to her

She made some losers winners
her long blonde hair in their fist
her mouth encircling their erections
in the most gratifying of ways

Some other losers she ignored
Allowing them to remain losers
(You can still hear their lonely cries echo
through the night as they jump between open tram wagons
Casting a lustful eye on young women going home from bars)

Yet other losers
she would subject to a most cruel torment.
She would call them in the middle of the night
one hand holding her cellphone and
the other between her legs
voice hoarse and husky on the telephone line,
sharp intakes of breath
an unreachable metronome
Her body was a prize to die for, her eyes hard
the line of her mouth unforgiving
and her labia perfect, a gateway to G-d
a doorway to oblivion
far out of reach


7 Responses to “Losers”

  1. forpuck said

    Thanks. I’m sure we’ve all met this woman at one point.

  2. I’ve written many-a-poem for the same woman.

  3. forpuck said

    And did it ever allow you to become the first kind of loser?… (it’s rhetorical)..

    Now back to packing for week long moscow trip and listening to Leonard Cohen. (I’m a predictable dude)

  4. brian said

    damn her…i think she may have called me once…

  5. Lori said

    that is a sad girl, she is. looking for something she isn’t going to find with her mouth or in between her legs. you painted her picture well along with the wake of empties she is leaving in her path.

  6. Claudia said

    you’re going there from the prostitute’s side but i really think women can men make feel losers and winners

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