|"What Good Am I Baby
Without You, Without You
What Good Am I?"
Musette Records 1966
In a fixed stare the new day arrives with him.
Deadlocked pallor and shapes of morning.
We bungle an exchange
a twinge of pleasantries, stuttering nerves.
It all looks like snapped-up glass.
I'm a crick in the neck, designing him
into a pitying chair.
Where dandelion light jangles, obscuring the window
a backdrop of glowering cushions
warms his lovely behind.
Those shoo-off eyes cast spells, I'm stung
with pinpoints of squirmy wounds, and the voice
of Mickie Champion falling, clamping down.
You're a mouth-watering nostalgia,
pepping up blue-black hair
thrashing with floppy hand. I love you,
coil you tenderly, rattled in every pore.
Leaving time will understate your elegance
remind you of the smirr on apple leaves.
Only then I'll try to sleep
and a hundred pure-white pills
sickly in the lowest drawer.
If you've any comments about this poem, Christopher Barnes would be pleased to hear from you.