The following poems are from Ellaraine Lockie's new book entitled, Finishing Lines published by Snark Publishing. To order, send $5 to Snark Publishing, 637 W. Hwy. 50, #119, O’Fallon, IL 62269 or visit www.snarkpub.com


Old Lady Lesbian

There's leisurely time later
for lesbian love
I'm reserving the right
for old age
After natural order
lists husbands and lovers
as endangered species
Men stolen by prime time
blood clots and blown gaskets

Before I bear bones that break
or betray into a crab-like shell
Curled up question mark
with memory loss
A brain that can't claim present
While eyes, ears and taste buds
can't recall past capacity

But the body remembers
how hands transfer affection
How hugs plug 15-year-old holes
And how a hint of breath
embraces an earlobe
Touch starvation unfed
from nurses' paid pretense

Or family's guilty conscience
Forcing perfunctory pecks
on affecting cheeks
Protecting themselves as though
the condition were contagious
Fervor found again in like kind
To hell with heterosexual bigots
They can love alone in old age

Previously published in Crossing the Center Line, Sweet Annie Press


Where the Want Went

Desire disappears more
dependably than couples divorce
A mystery to me
Like socks that go missing
in the dryer after so many cycles
in the mundane of domesticity
Maybe it slips down the drain
in the sanitized routine of sex
Or shreds from the sharp
tongue of sarcasm
Resentments souring the taste
of spousal seduction
Appetites excited
for surreptitious sweets
or S & M escapades
At least an erotic roll in the RV
Perchance the recipe for arousal
changes over time
But we stay quagmired
as Betty Crocker casualties
Serving the same carnal kill
In stretched T shirts over beer bellies
And stained lingerie six sizes
larger than trousseau
No wonder passion washes away
Pales into compulsory intercourse
Instead of color fasting
in the frenzy of duty-free desire


Running on Empty

My latest addiction is Wrigley’s Polar Ice
I unwrap all fifteen pieces from the package

Lay them on the passenger seat
like a long line of cocaine

Or Salem substitutes
during the 160 Montana miles ahead

Or subtle similes aside
an endeavor to undo the habit of you

But the bumps and ruts in the gravel road
have their way with the Wrigleys

And when I reach over for a fix
I find again the emptiness I try to feed


© Ellaraine Lockie