2 Poems by
Lori Williams
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Riff Raff
That nice woman has lost her mind,
they must whisper at the corner store
while squeezing Italian bread and twirling eggs.
Better than an Enquirer story, and their checks
stretch for another quart of milk.
Walking the streets at two a.m., smoking
in a tattered t-shirt and angel pajama bottoms
in search of her son. Dropped bladders
wake at the oddest hours, and eyes
one blink away from seeing God
peer out through the window gates
to check for riff raff. She is now considered such,
maybe on that crack or peach wine coolers.
One drinking glass remains intact, and three
dinner plates, since he found his wings.
She wants to rip them off until he bleeds.
The walls are dotted with splotches
like the canvas of a spastic artist; catsup red,
hair gel yellow, cologne ecru; but that one dries
to a clear, sweet-scented finish - an anomaly.
Never mind the shards of glass and hair
and stoneware twisted into the old shag carpet
where he used to crawl. Never mind
that she crawls now, praying to a peeling ceiling
where she thinks she sees Mary's face. They
talk about their boys and cry together.
Yes, this nice woman has lost her mind.
She suspects it can be found
in the time before billy clubs and rolling paper
were hidden in sock drawers,
when she slept soundly and twirled eggs.
Before they were riff raff.
My Friend Cindy
When we were thirteen she showed me
the hickey on her tit, in our friend Anna's
dark hallway. It was like a big plum,
round and purple.
It scared yet mesmerized me, a girl
yet to have a tongue in her mouth.
I touched it quickly, fearing it would hurt.
She made a sound that said, no.
I was glad when Anna's mother
started singing opera and we
heard Mr. Frosty music out front.
We ran, giggling, like kids again
and bought lemon ice.
The boys fought to feel her up,
and sometimes down. She let them.
She looked like a woman.
They said I was the pretty one,
but she had the body. I was jealous,
stuffed my training bra with Kleenex.
I saw her today, buying wash-off tattoos.
She is fat now, with gray hair, but still
the nicest person. None of the boys
ever married her and no baby ever
needed her body like they did.
I looked at the tattoos and she knew
I wondered. "We do what we have to do
to bring us back to the good times" she said.
I imagined her tits covered with them,
and smiled, crow's feet and all.
We heard Mr. Frosty outside, giggled,
and ran to get a lemon ice
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