Sometimes I get lost
in rockets. Sometimes
it's O' Hara and a stoop
in sunlight, or French,
Lana, oranges,
the art, the gay.
A friend of Susan's
(what was his name?)
had her do him
on the sly (and she never
let Carol know) 'cause
he had never had
a woman, he was
into men but wanted
to know. It was un-
remarkable for all
but me.
I saw Susan naked
once, chasing him
around the room with
a belt, after she had
showered. Everyone
was laughing, good times.
Her breasts were fuller
than I had ever imagined,
her hips, thighs -
everything was young,
becoming more and more
crazy naked zoom.
I was tight
with her sister a while -
met her the same day
I came home early to find
a guy waiting to picnic
with the one I loved -
she lived in Jersey.
I spent weekends there.
Sometimes
Susan and Carol would
be there too.
Susan was an amateur
mechanic
and Carol studied
philosophy.
Sometimes I imagine
having made a move
on Susan instead of
her sister,
and all the sweat
and love and madness
that would've ensued.
She was my drinking buddy
only though. Her
unpredictable clinging sister
was the rebound I loved,
for a while. I was already
reading O' Hara,
but that was another
world for me.
I see those months
in upper Manhattan
as rockets now,
the Fourth of July
we missed 'cause
we were drunk,
the river I fell into
watching for tall ships.
Even New Jersey,
although O' Hara had
nothing to do
with Clifton.