Wendy Klein


© Wendy Klein CCXVII

RIP 24 October 2017

How many times that year
cheek pressed to spotty cheek

I found my thrill

floating in a haze of Brylcreem
and Old Spice

on Blueberry Hill

the bony body of the latest flame
his ribcage pulsating

against my own
my barely-there breasts

The moon stood still

Precious 45s, their covers plastered
with his face, his cheeks so shiny

on Blueberry Hill

that love seemed almost possible
like his love for New Orleans

The wind in the willow played
love's sweet melody

a love so strong he wouldn't
leave while Katrina snapped and snarled

Though we're apart

Reducing the world to wet and rubble
and mud and grief and death

Like Richard and Jay
and Bob and David

you were my thrill
on Blueberry Hill