About an old love

1974

I wonder whatever
became of Tania.
Fresh out of South Dakota,
new to the city
and wild about
New York.

Expert in back seat
gymnastics as
high school cheerleader,
but too timid to walk
across the room
nude, as candles
flickered, smooth jazz
played on the eight track
and I applauded.

Did she marry the
minster’s son from
Rapid City and birth
a half dozen sons?
She had the hips
for it. Round,
firm and flexible.

Daughter of a farmer,
she could hold her
own when it came
to it. I once saw
her stare down
a drunk who thought
she might feel good
to the touch. He wore
that swollen eye
for weeks.

Yet between the sheets
she became the Argo
on a world wide quest.
Or Calypso as we
plumbed the ocean
bottom.

It was only lighted
rooms that spiked
her sense of agitation.
As if a barn
at midnight was
the only place
to show what heaven
placed among us.

Silly what baggage
she carried through
childhood, to open
at the first chance
of being free from
home. Only to discover
the silk nighty presumably
packed turns out to
be a flannel shirt
in size extra large.

By now she’s well
past fifty and
regrets not pressing
her naked breasts
against the window
on Lexington Avenue.
So all New York
could see what
cornfed beef and
fresh whole milk
can do with genes
and hormones.

I’d give the next
ten thousand breaths
to stand on Lex.
and gaze up to
that window.