Nother new poem

Alan Caudillo
______________________

I can't remember her name.

"Je ne t'aime plus mon amour,
je ne t'aime plus tous les jours"

Manu brings her back:
Stacks of comics; several
unwashed plates,
pieces of food; black
lacquered table found in alley
behind the Trojan;
porous, white light & winter
wind between
rough green burled slats;
mud & grass & me
on my stomach
& some kind of soda
& tears
& snot
dripping on the yellow nearly wall
to wall shag remnant.

Her face, thin
& pale, her nose upturned
slightly,
deep dark eyes
& lips thin
& nearly scarlet.
Auburn hair thick, dribbling
into perfect
ringlets.

She tasted fresh
& smelled like soap
& I thinking that she was too
good to be.
Not me;
too poor
too Mexican (or not White enough)
too dirty
& Catholic
& bad.

I can't remember her name.

She
must have felt very
naughty kissing
me
in the Hall,
long hair
& ear rings
& Black Flag T.

Manu brings her back:
"Je ne t'aime plus mon amour,
je ne t'aime plus tous les jours"

That night,
golf course,
we laughed
& kissed
& rolled on green; She
told me
'I love you.'

I can't remember her name.

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