I Open Two Drawers

I open two drawers looking for the poem
i wrote about her, the paper gone farther
than the memory I have of the stench of
old wine and throw-up I knew her only high
and only between high guys falling in
her window for an almost fuck she was
old now, tired and sick, knew she would
not live too long we spoke of Jesus and
love and dollars, she liked to touch my
face i guess because of the innocence of
a twenty one year old white girl in Newark
New Jersey her words were mostly slurred
she made me cry because i wanted to love
her clean wanted to take her free wanted
to find some power to disentangle the crap
that had locked her in this room for the price
of the next fix she could have been my mother
except the last time i visited there was no sign
anyone had been there only the emptiness i
feel when I remember my favorite old whore

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