Mary Magdalene The Younger Poem by Joseph Martin III

As the night waited expectantly

with its thousand disappointments

and as many desires gone unmet

as stars in a weary universe,

I sat in the shabby apartment

of my very good acquaintance

Mary Magadelene the Younger,

hooker with a heart of gold plate,

sharing a bottle of wine while she

sat waiting for her next trick to call-

three more and she could make her rent.



All the while she lazily slashed and hacked

scars upon scars upon flesh across her arm

with a paperclip, since she knew her clientele's

attention would hardly ever wander there.



'Do you remember, '

She said never looking up

from her blood-art in progress,

'a time when you felt blessed

for a beautifully familiar face

greeting you with your

sleepy eyes each morning,

rather than the emptiness

of meaningless strangers

that hasten your escape? '



Staring into the red mystery

of my nearly empty glass,

I inhaled from my cigarette,

breathed it out long like a sigh,

and let my reply curl into the air,

'Unfortunately I do.'