Issue
#18 

a poem by Anthony Liccione (1 of 2)

hooked

I took this
hooker
last night,

told me she
believes
in God,
and that
her brother
was killed
in desert storm,
and that her
father went
from an ex-con
to a neurotic,
narcotic cop,

wished he
kept his
promises
when she was
a little girl
and his
heart cleaner,
then the usual
farther from the truth.

she then stamped
out her cigarette and
opened her legs.

that morning
I found her cooking
sausage and eggs,
perking up coffee
vibrant as her breasts,
as the sun shone
over her through
the window,
she almost
looked wholesome
blind to the drugs,
make-up and high
heels,

after breakfast,
as she was
washing
the dishes
and I drying
them,
I told her
I was still looking
for God,
and my life
has never been
this complete
until now,
she told me
just as well then
there will be
no charge,
and somehow
I finally
believed
in love
after my
first wife
left me,

blind to
see that
love can
be found
from a
needle-pierced
motel,
where men
hang their
drained wedding rings
on the one-night stand,
where a dim light
lightly fades.

© by Anthony Liccione
 
Gutter Eloquence Magazine ~ Issue #18 ~ Nov 2011    next poem      return to top