She had a mouth like a ditch.
She had a mouth like a jungle war
or despot’s manifesto.
I loved her, like a dog loves stink,
but her mouth, her mouth . . .
Like a crack in the pavement,
the sun beating its little yellow drum.
A mouth like a gouged eye.
A wound that wouldn’t heal.
An icy morning in November.
My icon, my empress, my fly —
every muttered word from her
was another name christened the antichrist.
Curses that would shame Beelzebub.
Set Baal blushing. Buddha surrendering
up his bliss.
A mouth like the scarred cheek of a paramour.
Like a sinkful of dirty dishes.
She swore to a higher order,
her mouth an open door in a storm.
Like a slapped face.
Like a broken bottle, and yet, and yet
we drink from it.
Bruce McRae
Bruce McRae, a Canadian musician, is a multiple Pushcart nominee with poems published in hundreds of magazines such as Poetry, Rattle and the North American Review. His books include The So-Called Sonnets (Silenced Press); An Unbecoming Fit Of Frenzy; (Cawing Crow Press) and Like As If (Pski’s Porch), Hearsay (The Poet’s Haven).
