Madonna

A poem that addresses a dysfunctional relationship.

The brown eyed girl

has loved me tender,

caressed my fevered brow

when the drink has rubbed

my limbs with drunken grace

and I swagger when I walk,

she has loved me in the daytime

when my paycheque aches with

embarrassment,

it covers itself in rags and whines

of a life that remains forever out of reach,

but I, I think only of tonight,

of a motel room and a key card,

of your boyfriend frankly oblivious

to the needs of your body,

of how your nails will scratch my back

and I will moan along with the ginger

calico that the owner feeds on rats,

I will whisper words of love

and comfort,

some I’ll mean,

others will roll off my tongue

and fall with a thud

on the tiny threadbare rug,

you are everything tonight,

the moon, the sun

and the ever loving dark,

my black Madonna,

and when dawn stretches out his hand

to lay his fingers on your legs

I will whisper a new word

built of all my experiences,

I will whisper goodbye and mean it,

and sail off with a heavy heart.