In Pursuit of Soles

I still remember the Friday nights when I’d leave the bar early

 

With Jennifer at my side and two frothy mugs full of Pabst in the trunk of my van

 

And we’d ride out to the Motel Inn, where I’d remove her thick black boots after a squeak of approval

 

And pour the Pabst on her slim, delicate soles

 

The liquid would massage her slight blisters and give a special shine to the ring around the littlest of her five rouged and unfortunately whorish teenage offspring, who I tended to support as if I were a belated yet discreet stepfather

 

And then, I’d lap up the juice on her flesh like a dog on a dish of water

 

And get delightfully drunk on every one of the snarky juvenile delinquents

 

But later, the squeaks of her boots became angry and unwelcoming

 

And she stormed off with a light man who preferred Heineken

 

So now, I prowl about town with the taste of her soles still fresh in my mind

 

Like a blind dog in pursuit of the moon, I howl out odes to her precious memory, often becoming entrapped in the clutches of a shallow lamp in the damper sectors of the Motel Inn

 

Light-years away from my Jennifer.

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Author: Ben Simon

Ben Simon is a poet and writer from San Luis Obispo. Two of his poems, "Multiple Meats" and "Peace Poem," have appeared in the local zine SWAP, and his poem "Stiffness Be Gone" is set to appear in Cal Poly's annual literary anthology Byzantium.

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1 Comment

  1. “Frothy mugs of Pabst…” beautiful, striking, thirst-inducing imagery! Nice poem ^^

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