Betty Blue

I cracked her door on a wintry day—

Waist-high rotting piles

Spread beyond all hope.

We drove away with a crooked mouth,

Her eyes on me like a galliard tree,

Descanting Ulysses, Joyce and more.

Read me sad poems, she softly said,

Crystals, rings and virgin parchments

I have seen all these.

Late, I brought her home and

She held me close with an opera she knew—

Pratzel’s closes at two!

What the hell!

She fell down dead,

Day after Christmas.

I ate a bagel this morning.