What bitter taste preserved in memory
licks at faces while it’s slumbered sleep?
It pecks in flashes and night sweats of
tables too slow to prevent a lie and reason
too unrehearsed to stop the imprint of the
smell of beer on a man. It thrusts images-
faster still, of stained, pea green, linen
slip covers and locked wood cabinets.
It cringes at the scent of tobacco and old
grease on an older uniform. It fights
and accepts the retaliatory touch that
leaves cheeks stained with warm salt
water and purple. It screeches
screams unheard for lack of breathe
and forever silences the voice for
secrets made can not easily be vocalized.

10/24/2004

Author's Note: Thanks Christine for the typo correction. Darn hooked on phonics...

Posted on 10/25/2004
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