I am here and it is the day after.
I lift a pile of unread mail off of a chair and open the blinds,
And watch the sun boil the dust in the air. I set and I take it in.

The room smells of old corsets and perfumed talcum powder.
An antique Lady Schick Consolette hair dryer
Hides partly obscured under the heavy frame of the carved mahogany bed
Along with stacks of magazines and catalogs and…………
God knows what else lurks there.

And I realize that I am the only one now lurking,
Looking into a room that had been forbidden to me
The soul domain of the lady of the house.

But she in not here to make things tidy for this impromptu visit.
She would be so shamed by my eyes taking this all in,
Her secrets, her pills, her special candies, her oils, her perfumes -
All of the alchemical accruements of femininity in jars and tiny boxes.

And the symbols of her wizardry, her diamond encrusted Eastern Star ring,
Pendants, broaches, earrings, necklaces, bobbles, bracelets, clasps, loose pearls-
From a strand I broke long ago during happier days.

The sun dust boils from this cauldron now,
This stuffy, over stuffed chamber of perfume and chocolate,
Of daybeds and special treatments, laxatives, gels, powered and pills.
I dream…..a can of gas and a match would be a fitting end

And then I see it on the dresser, an old photo of a family, a pretend family
And a face is cut out of it, his face…….and so I feel, for a moment
Her pain and see the world has she may have seen it. So be it.  It is done.

If you fall, I bruise.
If you’re cut, I bleed.
If you want, I shan’t refuse.
If you follow, I will lead.
And if you lead, I will follow you
No matter where you go.
No valley is too far to pursue
My blue wild indigo.

Old men that stink of gin
with brown stains of chew
oozing at the corners of their
unshaven smile
Raise their twinkling eyes to you
As you saunter slowly by.
And suddenly they are
Twenty now with winks
And nods and memories
Of the by and by.

Martin Hunter

Pollywogs and dragonflies
Salamander slime
Some are dreamt and summer schemes.

Mud Daubers on the cattails
Catfish on the hook
Crawl daddy in the cranny.

Crickets with backward knees
Buzzing honey bees
Poets of a summer dream.

Martin Hunter