By Kenneth McIntyre
DISCONNECT THE WIRES AND WORK ON BEAMS
I know this whore in Seoul
She is a mercurial sort
Reminds me of a Gregorian chant
Happy
And
Sad
She tells me she feels cheap
And if it was not for the money
There would be no pride at all
I give her that pat response
Without the word whore
She gets angry and tells me
I have short legs and should
Go back to my country
Beyond certain limits you
Do not exist for me
I tell her
She likes to read my palm
With
The English dictionary in her lap
Says my intransigence will kill
I tell her 742
We are a funny sort
She cries and tells me she
Always
Wanted to be a nurse
I ponder that and come to the
Conclusion that the only decent women
I have met are
Nurses and whores
____________________________________________________________
WHORES
There is this city in Asia
Not much of a city really
Full of whores and dirtier
Whore mongers
A place that would disgust most
The molls are stacked
Three
High
In every polluted club
Plying their wares
Like rotting
Dolls
In a soiled showcase
I decline the audience
Lumber into a clouded bar
Start pounding Red Horse
And
Wait
We mix venom
She wants money
I ask for what
Four children
Babysitter
Motorbike
Cell phone
Metal roof for the house
Back in Seoul
I walk by the
Western Union
Shake my head and think
Jesus Christ
There is always
More in the shop
Than in the window
____________________________________________________________
LOVE POEM TO A WHORE OF NINE YEARS
(ROAD TO DAMASCUS)
If I was a romantic
I would compare you to Helen
And search the myths
Greek
Chinese
Korean
For a celestial being as ardent and slender
One with form as fine but find none
You are beauty round with grace
So light is your step and sway
Emotions I horde for Buddha and death
Bathe me with evidence that you dance not walk
Simply to touch you is combustible
Head and hair become the burning bush
When you speak I become drunk with lust
I stammer through exaltation and am in awe
I hold love and divinity in my metamorphosis
_____________________________________________________________
Kenneth McIntyre is on a continual journey in search of muses, mystics, pontificators and inebriates. He roams the streets of Seoul and patronizes the borough of Haebangcheon where he may be found setting the scene for future verse.
Print This Post
