No-One Knew His Last Name by Natalia Spencer

I am not a silent poet

i.m. Sam Lowe

The first time I saw you by the bins I was a visitor
That stance was like a young girl luring quick silver
from a mine with her beauty even though
your dog squat on the lawn as we talked.

Based on the soft baritone answering
bird soprano
I moved in hoping for peace
an end to bedsores & grief

The second time was through Georgian wired glass
you came in a Santa hat
late at night in party mode my door stayed closed
I knew my worth was more than this

The third time you offered greased sausage in a bag
your face a drooling cider pool would-be-kiss
The fourth time I gave you shade under a black garden umbrella
sunlight made your skin crawl

The last we met in a lane
one well-travelled by both of us
your jaw steroid plump held up
the Pierrot…

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