Read Poem: Winter Afternoon by Carlo Danese

Parking on side streets, so impatient for spring the way your first girl shivered
until the heat came up, gas was cheap so you left it running
soon the windows fogged and you could pretend
that no one walking by saw you, but
people know your car anyway, so

You drive clear out of town, that farm you worked
last summer had a shed, good half mile
from the main house, you remember
it was clean, they kept it so clean, the wife
once proudly explained; ‘In case of guests’ pointing

At a rough cabinet high up on the wall, away
from the dirt floor littered with corncobs, leaves, scraps
from some fence that got in a tractors way, inside
piled high with moving blankets; her uncle drove a rig for twenty years
and the worn out army green one they sent him home in.

The sun finally fallen behind the last ridge sprays weak light, splayed hands
saying ‘Take me’ to the winter night, you ease the shift down third to second, back
up then down again pumping the clutch so the tires caress the frozen dirt, ‘How much further?’
she wonders and you nod to the distance then in case she took the brevity for impatience, smile
reaching across where her sweet hand weaves an unlit cigarette.

‘We’re here!’ nosing hard against a rut, ass end angled up so her door slams into a drift, the shed
a soft shape, barely darker than the growing night; ‘I can’t see’ she whispers, snaking
your arm through the glove box you explain ‘Flashlight somewhere’, flicking it on
she giggles ‘Oh my hero!’ then coat falling away circles your face, sighing
‘Kiss me here’ and blushes quivering under her open blouse you find

Heaven, her bra crumpled pastel on the floor mat, incongruity
part of the romance and tasting the place you dream of can’t stop
till she pulls away, ‘We should go inside’ you’re holding the flashlight still lit so
she covers your hand ‘I can see now, I can see good’ stepping inside
you fall together mouths everywhere you hush ‘Wait’ reaching up

To the hand made cabinet fling the door open then blankets tumble down
you lay them in a fat pile and grabbing the fuzzy green army one wrap her all creamy
in it’s softness you can’t believe how perfect the world is; she struggles
with your belt, fingernails shock at first but learning quickly
she knows just how to guide you, it’s rough

But soon you both find the rhythm you already knew, finally
laugh when she screams ‘oh baby!’ for the first time then somewhere
snow crunches under boots, a lantern clanks, hinges squealing swing
yellow blaze, a single blast then endless echoes no more laughs just red; gushing
where her face was the farmer in the doorway standing proud, blue haze

Clouds his grin; ‘Always knew you been messing with my wife’ no sooner
do the words fall out his mouth like rocks from a dump truck but his eyes, traveling
the eternal silence of a beautiful young woman finally inform his brain, ‘God forgive me!’
begging to be accused but you’re still holding her as if looking for a missing part, dip two fingers
in your forsaken mouth and run them along the surface of what she was, your hand

Lumbers, winged monster over a burning lake.

About poetryfest

Submit your Poetry to the Festival. Three Options: 1) To post. 2) To have performed by an actor 3) To be made into a film.
This entry was posted in 2018 Poetry, new poetry, poet, poetry, Poetry Festival, Uncategorized and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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