Chicano Poet

Tuesday, January 04, 2005

Henry Time

Henry traced
her lips with his finger.
Henry was

madly in love
with his Jewish girl.
They spent

making love.
She wrote poetry

in various notebooks
she kept
in her hippie bag.

She had
marvelous wonders,
and a cute little smile

that Henry
misses so much
right now.

Her poems
must have
piled up

to the sky
by now,
or beyond.

Henry knows
he’s got some
of her poems

in his vast collection
of junk.

Ah, look,
here’s Henry’s
report card

from sixth grade.
All A’s.
Henry Einstein.

But, time is bent
when it gets caught
in the doorway

as Henry
hurries off
to work.

Time suffers a compound
fracture, a broken bone,
if you know what I mean.


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