Robert Brendan

(1979 / Calgary)

Walk Over - Poem by Robert Brendan

After getting change from
the telephone without first
sating hello
and asking how the
bartender was doing this
I made a phone call, received
no response
from my party
and hung up.
Once I climbed the stairs and
left the bar, I saw ecco,
this girl that I have known
for five years. Who may
or may not be involved
in prostitution.
I’m not sure
when she saw me and
said hello
she stuck out her tongue
which was pierced
with a bar of
steel and smiled.
She asked me if I was still
living in the same high-rise
and I replied yes
I was.
Through our conversation and
right from the start of it
I noticed how very small
and triangle
shaped her breasts were.
But I knew without looking
because I had seen it
that she had an ass
that stopped film sets
from being
She mentioned that
she had been living in
Devon, a small town outside
of this small
Notorious for its horrific methamphetamine
epidemic which
has claimed the souls
of almost its entire
youth population
the last
ten years.
In the words of mike from
the park
who left to neighborhoods
'Devon is bad craziness. Like
knives and rape
gone rotten behind
cupboard doors.'
This mention of
the town sized
meth house gave me glance to
the zits on her
She informed me that
she was staying
at the
hotel uproad.
The only cheap and sleazy hotel
on the street, barring
the cheaper and sleazier
one just
But that is not worse than
those in town
across the river
which is another city
The water cuts and the
breadth divides
'So you are going for drinks
tonight? '
'Odds are that’s how its going
to tap out.', I replied.
'Where then? '
'The bar', I pointed at it.
'Okay, well I'll buy you some
drinks tonight and see you.
Be there.
I've been thinking
about you every
now and then.'
What would stop me?
I could go, and get
fucked until the
sun turned to
Oh, I'd rubber it up
and garbage bag it.
To be sure.
We'll see. I suppose.

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Poem Submitted: Monday, October 17, 2005

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