Poet in the Rain

IN NINETEEN-SIXTY-FIVE
11/13/2010
Copy Write Gordon Kuhn 2010

Two whores passed by on a walk
I, one other, we observed and slowed our talk.
His face, I’m sorry, I don’t recall.
His name, my wretched memory, doth forestall,
but both wore uniforms that day of the Corps,
so long ago in the month of June
twelve months past the one in sixty-four,
we both proudly stood tall
in the summer dress we wore
while they in their costume of the night
time bar moved past as if we were not in sight
to one whose distance surely was not too far
from where we walked in opposite directions
each seeking from life some equal perfections
each aware of who and what we were
and neither party wished the other to stir
from restful passing, each thinking we knew who we were
thinking thoughts and wondering what life yet held in store
while strolling along on that cemented shore.

I have no idea about the subject of their talk,
most animated, private, as they did walk
as they went about their daylight walk,
and neither they nor we were out to gainful stalk
the other for professional services of basest means
just walked past, walk past and talk
of financial means or for some small comfort
closing in on some nearby location
dealing with life’s all to violent frustration
lips moving in too old young flesh
artful makeup painted over bruised flesh
going for a talk somewhere
perhaps in truth to nowhere
just then no moment need for one to strive
to be other than what we were that day
in nineteen-sixty-five
.