The New Year came and went,
At a pot-luck in some artist’s home,
Folks smoked dope, drank wine,
And ate left-over Xmas food.
There were women partially undressed in the kitchen,
Removing casseroles from the oven,
Their discarded clothing draped on chairs,
Laughing over their shoulder at me,
Hair disheveled and cheeks pink from the heat.
I leaned against the wall covered with portraits of the city,
Stuck up willy-nilly with red thumb-tacks,
The artist had drawn most of them, and traded for the rest,
The women talked loudly and sweetly,
Every hot-pad covered hand held promise,
Kneeling women’s backs shone as their pants rode down and their shirts gathered up,
Kneeling, bare backs all warm and fleshy,
Sometimes with a pantie rim like a sliver of moon showing the way all shining and bright,
“Look here, this is where you need to go next.”
I leaned against the kitchen wall,
And waited for the year to begin,
Waited to find you with cheeks and laughter coming to me.