The Connection (poem)

I knew she was sick
The moment I laid eyes on her
Smiling face
She could smile when she had to
Broker a deal
To get a good looking son
I gave her the meanest
Rottenest look
I could possibly come up with
She just kept on smilin’
I could hear my mother cryin’
A few miles away
She had no damn choice
Here I was stuck in a driveway
With this good upstandin’ Catholic woman
Who I knew damn well
Was no good
A six year old
Knows these things
She could smile all she wants
She wasn’t my momma
But the deal was done
I was bought and sold
To be her boy
She never smiled again
Except when someone else
Was comin’ around
Now ma, she was from France
She loved the hell outta me
She lost that battle
She lost that whole damn war
To my father’s lawyer
After she learned
How to speak English
God damn! she was beautiful
She used to come
Put her cold hands on my face
After workin' all day
In the bakery
She’d hold my head
Like it was….. a diamond
A big ol' diamond
Like I was... her precious love
And she’d smile
There wasn’t a smile in the whole God damned world like that
She grew up in Alcase Lorraine
She grew up in Paris
When Henry Miller and Adolph Hitler
Were out runnin' around
In America
They all turned their heads
They all said
She’s beautiful
But they didn’t know
How beautiful she was
They never saw her cry like I did
This other woman
She just needed something
Innocent and beautiful
So she could molest it
And beat it
And teach it to be an altar boy
So she could sacrifice it
Kick it in the balls
As hard as she could
God damn! she was pissed
When she found out
I didn’t love her
I spent four years in her
House of horrors
I was beat and sacrificed
Tied with ropes
Made to crawl
In cold pourin’ rain
Out in the middle o’ nowhere
In the middle of the black night
Then one night
I was naked
And she almost pulled it right out o’ me
Every day
I was told
I was no good
Nobody loved me
It was a lie
I could hear my mother cryin’
I could see the tears fallin off o’ her face
Just a few miles away
Just a few miles away
Just a few miles away

- 2002 April 07 Sunday (3am)
Inspired by reading Gregory Corso's poetic childhood accounts and then reflecting on my own childhood.

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© Vincent B. Rain