The Poetess Of Blue Streak Grill Poem by Robert P Arthur

The Poetess of Blue Streak Grill


All salads here are served
With onions, tomatoes, grief
And green peppers; fat-free
Ranch, blue cheese, French
Or peppercorn Parmesan.
She has ashes in her hair
And weeps at the mention
Of Harlan, Kentucky
She says she's a brakeman's
Daughter pried loose
From his upside down,
Belly-ripped hanging.
All men got brains of coal,
She says, thinking of trains,
Unbuttoning her blouse
And swatting my hand.
Kin I see you naked, I say.
She's listening close to
The veins of blood in my
Bumble of words. A
Beehive opens in her
Abdomen, succulent, sweet
And golden. She's
Delicious on my fingers.
Honey runs from my mouth.
There is blood in the comb of
This angel of darkness,
The taste of humming
Where the lion sits down
With the lamb