Literary Abandon

The greatest thing I ever saw was her foot on the couch,
A cigarette held between her toes
Smoldering like the sunset on a warm Tucson night.

She asked me if I was going to stay
As I silently stared at the paint splotches,
The messy fingerprints 
of a giant’s child on the wall.
My thoughts were of her dad’s cool friends,
Her hypothetical uncles,
Her sister,
Her father with the swiss army thumb
And how I would smoke a joint with any of them,
Hanging onto my fading consciousness,
Hanging by the end of that tar-stained work of art,
		
but not with her.

With her my seat on the bus was booked,
Dinner was unseasoned fried okra
And the pool was never too cold.
Her eyes said she would show me an Eden without snakes,
But I’ve always been on the hunt for Mecca with no handrails.

I left without breakfast 
Or another sideways word.
Ashes fell from her toe.
She screamed at me
And the mess.

A deep breath of morning air.
I didn’t do it for her or for me;
We both never really cared.
	I did it to see the birds flying between the traffic lights,
	For the dancers in billowing green skirts,
	And for the pennies upon pennies I’d never have to my name.
I felt better out there,
Lying with my legs spread lazily across the sidewalk.

The greatest thing I ever saw was her ashen foot on the couch
And the broken mirrors in her eyes.
I knew she was scared;
If only she felt beautiful.

© Drew Rutty