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Nobody's Baby No More

by Therese Elaine

I could have been your
Hard luck dame
The best of my cabaret charisma
Lost
In the smoky residue of your
Gin soaked battery
of complimentary
Indiscretions
I never had a heart that could beat for you
Some other guy hawked it at the corner pawn shop
The best parts of me parceled out
Between down on their luck Joes
And always hard up Janes
And sometimes it’s like
Finding myself in a window
Bargain price
Unclaimed
I could have been
That sad luck dame
Awash in bourbon blues
Coldwater soubriquet
Who never even knew
One side of the tracks was wrong
All I ever knew is that they took me away
From here
I never had a heart that could break for you
It was lost among return-to-sender postcards
And 3am telegrams that only said
Goodbye: Stop.
And sometimes it’s like
I’m every front page headline
Made all the more obscene
For all the gritty
Declarations
And sometimes it’s like
I wrote my own obituary
Before I was ever born
Just eight words
On a rainwater tomb
“Every beginning
Is the start of
An end.”
I think I've always been
That bad luck kind of dame
An ocean's worth of good intentions
A busted emotional rowboat
And no bearings to speak of
I never had a heart that skipped a beat for you
It's still stuck
On that broken record melody
That stutter of apology,
Tinged with resignation
You dug that groove a bit too deep
And I never heard the song
The way it's supposed
To be sung.
I never could have been that girl
The kind you could have loved
The kind of love without split-lips
And backseat fumblings
All you've ever seen in me
Are sharpened edges
Torn stockings
Just a promise unfulfilled
And a suitcase full of
bitter little pills



So drop me at the next
Waystation
I’ll go my way
You go yours
I won’t miss you much
There’s another one
Just like you
Waiting down the line
You see, men like you sugar,
Are only ever a matter
Of time.

05/29/2008

Posted on 05/29/2008
Copyright © 2024 Therese Elaine

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 05/30/08 at 04:37 AM

You can't not love a poem that evokes so much old-fashioned language. Though to me, hard-luck dames never go out of style. Loved it.

Posted by Quentin S Clingerman on 08/07/08 at 12:53 AM

Focused, another very sad description of lost hope, of jaded living, of apparent nonchalance hiding a deeply wounded life. Excellent writing.

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