Inside Sutter's Mill
by Rawclyde !
Up to me
you strutted
wearing shorts
called Sutter's Mill ~
Your eyes glowed
your hair flowed
yes it was
a deep thrill ~
When I felt
on my face
the heat of
your smoker's cough ~
And Sutter's Mill
started
slipping
off ~
You danced
I glanced
at your panties
riding low ~
Low like my
low dreams
the kind I
rarely show ~
Your low riders
my low dreams
went a flyin'
high ~
Your eyes
glowed n' glowed
'til they outglowed
the sky ~
Your legs
like swinging doors
allowed me
to come on in ~
A mine shaft
so peerless
it makes
my head spin ~
When you slipped
off Sutter's Mill
you gave power to
my fragile song ~
When you slipped
off Sutter's Mill
well now I know
where I belong ~
T'is a mine shaft
deep and sweet
as deep and sweet
can be ~
It's walls lined
with shelves and shelves
of unspared
poetry ~
I pick out
one volume
and read of
a girl with a twig ~
Who stood
by a fence
and called out to
her pig ~
Her pig who came
a running for a
special scratch
upon his hide ~
Later he walked the
slaughterhouse plank
while the little girl
cried ~
Another volume
tells me of
exhaustion
on a stage ~
Where a saloon girl
dances
and dances
page after page ~
Boldly she curses
and she fights
without a tear
in her eye ~
But not 'til after
a depraving night
when all she did
was cry ~
Careful as I
can be I push
still deeper
into you ~
From another shelf
I pull out another
book of poems
true ~
I see a soul
with a tight fist
clenched
in your gut ~
I see a quiet
private person
climbing out of
rut after rut ~
Oh these poems
are secret
the kind I
shall not expose ~
I read the book
cover to cover
back into the shelf
it goes ~
A little girl with
a book in her lap
squinted up at
her "crazy" Pa ~
She said nothing
turned a page as
he got balled out
by "stupid" Ma ~
The little girl
who is a woman now
read everything
in sight ~
And each word
she read is
in her eyes as
we make love tonight ~
Oh my dear
the bottom of
your mine shaft
is very bright with treasure ~
Gems rubies diamonds
gold nuggets
piles of wealth
without measure ~
Shelves of poetry
now this
what more
can there be?
Little angels fly
up and down
this mine singing
songs to me!
(Copyright 1980/2011 Clyde Collins)
~~~
