Frame Chain [Poem] by Peter Mladinic

Schaeffer tells Amanda:

Elsie Pym, in her early fifties,
her hair coiled, a braided bun on top,
took pins from her hair.
The coil came undone, her hair fell
to the small of her back.

When I’d see her mornings in Embers
she’d take my order, her dark-rimmed
glasses fastened to a silver chain.
The glasses on a chain, the coiled hair,
and, given her age, she looked
school marm prim in Embers.
One snaggletooth marred her smile.

But here, on my bed
she looked different.  I lay back
and she mounted me, her iron gray hair
falling down naked shoulders.
Her small hips moved up and down
as did her fairly small boobs.

Clenching my sides, she whimpered.
Tears welled in her eyes, trickled
down her cheeks.  She humped faster,
harder.  Sobs.  Softly, then loudly.
Right before and during her climax,
passionately, uncontrollably
straddling back and forth, sobbing,
even at times wailing,
her face flushed with tears.

Peter Mladinic’s poems have recently appeared in Punk Noir, the Poetry Village, Goat’s Milk Magazine, Pink Litter, BOMBFIRE, Yolk, Founders Favourites, and other online journals.  His book of poems, Knives on a Table, is forthcoming from Better Than Starbucks Publications.  He lives with six dogs in Hobbs, New Mexico.

Published by mistyrampart

Freelancer, poet, dreamer

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