Hattie Wilcox

Down with the Pimps of Peace

His neighbors sometimes weld
late into the evening
a bevy of Harleys
gather 'round the torch
silent, waiting to be jumped
and come back alive, the loud
rumbling seat of power
for those who sleep where they work
scream and fight into the night
disturbances mostly muffled
by square footage big enough
to house a fleet of trucks

In a warehouse he lives alone
behind metal, walls with no windows
content to paint in artificial light
images of happiness and connection
children busy at the beach
holding their mothers' hands
dreaming and building with wet sand
endless sunshine and shadow
rippling in an oily mirage
of no expectations

He reads the Tao, the now
floats in the cool stream of words
living in the books of Tolle, Dyer, Chopra
drinks daily from the overflowing cup
in the club of the pimps of peace
who hawk the warm and sterile
tightly-wrapped bandages of
brainwashing away all extremes
to purge pain from its strongholds
in betrayal, hunger, hope, and desire

He speaks the language of stillness
carries himself like a priest
who many mornings is mired
deep in the heat of chaos
that is the survival of his past
years of childhood beatings
difficult to reconcile even though
he maintains an exterior calm
having passed with flying colors
through the drinking, brawling
balls of confusion years
he long ago put behind him
in the closed closet
with the rest of it

I love him and though
he is out of my sight
he is part of my everyday being
and each day I pray
there are enough books
with enough words
to keep him safe
his guarded heart open
his fragile soul at rest
enough words
to keep his flame
from burning down
before he has a chance
to close his eyes
and accept the touch
of a hand on his skin
to sleep unafraid
and let someone in
his taped-up broken window

CP

Hattie Wilcox's love of poetry and piano led her to songwriting and the 2008 release of her debut CD, Red Bird Tattoo. She has won prize money for her lyrics and has lived to see her first royalty check. She continues to write poetry—her first love. Find out more at http://hattiewilcox.com/

Hattie Wilcox

Dirt Sandwich

—Inspired by Charles Bukowski

I thought I made you feel young
I thought you liked loving me
my fat lips my big ass my long dark hair
my see-through-blue perfumed lace pants and
my punky Melrose Avenue shoes
you know how much I liked the look of you
your beautiful feet your eyes
fixed on me uninterruptedly
so much sex without trying your chest
hard, defined like when you were 19
when your big runner's thighs
could get past mine and open 'em wide
any day of the week any time
I left for almost 40 years
to return and you're pushing 58
and being mature we found it funny
love ridiculously crazy, hilarious
the way we laughed every second
when you'd say fuck this and fucking that and
now I really really loved the way we did it
so smooth and natural
a beautiful melody like a rushing river
singing out a symphony
named us
until you stopped
and your silence made me ponder
maybe I made you feel old
maybe I was too much earth, too arty
for your old-farty elitist party
the best they can do for fun
high-priced fundraisers and you
in the middle, invisible, blending
in with your monogrammed cuffs
and your hands around me
then maybe not, maybe you couldn't
go to the depths or navigate
the rise of the sun or the hum
where did she come from?
what charities have you chaired, hon?
where did he find her? what a pair . . .
look at all that hair
squash-blossoms around her neck
when did you say you two met?
she's not his kind of girl really
there's something about her
she's too . . . what's the word?
still you decided to go ahead
do me with a new bottle of wine
pour yourself another glass
after dinner, and night after night
down it went to collapse
the present into the past
erase how we loved the best last
dangerously, recklessly, even though you
no longer long-haired, ragged and running
no longer scrounging for money
for your gas, your drugs
for the slab of the life you live now
you always loved to get shit-faced
and do your own bit of 'anything goes'
so you took my mouth and folded me
back into the warmth
of that indefinable space
you took up in my arms
you stayed naked for days and
slumbered so, I smiled and watched you
until one morning you watched me
and I felt the spec of distance
fly in my eye and you got up
you let it all go, you turned away
snuck back into the old man
holding tight his last stand
a nondescript woman in pearls
with bad teeth, a fat car and a grand house
where you slept every weekend
before you took a break
to start it with me . . . geez
I never knew until you were gone
and hey . . . yeah I heard
good times cost a fortune these days
everything costs more now
and it's a goddamned dirt sandwich
when you know so much
and it's not enough

CP

Hattie Wilcox's love of poetry and piano led her to songwriting and the 2008 release of her debut CD, Red Bird Tattoo. She has won prize money for her lyrics and has lived to see her first royalty check. She continues to write poetry—her first love. Find out more at http://hattiewilcox.com/

Hattie Wilcox

—Photo by Hattie Wilcox

Lime-Green Fluffy Pillow

a lime-green fluffy pillow
sits on my face
I breathe in a fur
made of the finest
hairs of plastic

my cat sleeps on my stomach
I don't move
the off-and-on purring
a hiccup in my
remembering

your voice, images of you
running through
my mind erratic
tease me
in the stillness

my tongue visits my dry lips
lashes flicker
just out of reach
the peace
of not missing you

CP

Hattie Wilcox's love of poetry and piano led her to songwriting and the 2008 release of her debut CD, Red Bird Tattoo. She has won prize money for her lyrics and has lived to see her first royalty check. She continues to write poetry—her first love. Find out more here.

Hattie Wilcox

—Photo Butterfly Cottonballs © 2009 by Hattie Wilcox

Kissing Lesson (If I Could See You)

If I could see you
I would give you a kissing lesson
And you would adore
The one-on-one messing
With my lips

If I could see you
I would play you piano melodies
And you would come in strong
At just the right bar
On guitar

If I could see you
I would waltz you through butterflies and cotton balls
Until you fell fast
Asleep in my clothes
Feet exposed

If I could see you
I would wash you in a candlelight bath
Bubbles and marijuana
And anything you might ask
Would be yours

If I could see you
I would feed you smoked ham and butter beans
And to your heart's content
You could slumber and snore
After sex


And I would never mind at all
If I could see you

CP

Hattie Wilcox's love of poetry and piano led her to songwriting and the 2008 release of her debut CD, Red Bird Tattoo. She has won prize money for her lyrics and has lived to see her first royalty check. She continues to write poetry—her first love. Find out more here.

Hattie Wilcox

—photo of Mark Wood by Hattie Wilcox 2008

Fiddle Music

I imagine a home inside a violin
sleeping in the dark hole
until the case opens
and I'm awakened by the
squeak and screech
of a 4-year-old's
chubby hand on the bow
swept up in a brush with
the kiss and swish of hair and strings
the swell, ebb and flow of a virtuoso
perfumed hair and the whisper
of a barely-there red-satin dress
the chop of a tobacco-chewing
hollerer from the hills
the booming stomp of boots
pounding a wood-plank floor
I am loved every day
tucked under a chin
against the warmth of skin
hovering above a shoulder
a jostling ride, rocking
every which way in the box
reeling and shaking
the singing vibrations
the grunting and sweat
the depths the rhythm
the strain the offering
breathing
someone's soul

CP

Hattie Wilcox's love of poetry and piano led her to songwriting and the 2008 release of her debut CD, Red Bird Tattoo. She has won prize money for her lyrics and has lived to see her first royalty check. She continues to write poetry—her first love.