On Tuesday night I hosted my weekly writers open stage: The Orgasmic Alphabet Orgy in the Art Bar of The Gladstone Hotel. Michelle, who had responded to my personals ad in Now Magazine came for the second week in a row and we exchanged poems. I performed “Dashine”.
Dashine
The streetcar is dragging my dead heart home
from a minor romantic defeat
I was standing along with a nervous line
legs anticipating a seat
Then in front of the firing squad of my eyes
walked a beautiful African girl
My eyes bounced to and away from her
while my lips tried to jump-start a smile
Then suddenly and so effortlessly
she poured me a long sweet smiling drink
and suddenly I had the ability
to smile back at her though it was weak
But what I should’ve done is said
Don’t smile at me unless you wanna have sex with me
Don’t bend that lovely bow to use my heart for target practice
Don’t smile at me unless you wanna have sex with me
Don’t make my hormones go and then tell me you’re just an actress
Don’t smile at me unless you wanna have sex with me
I was far too shy to approach her there
but I swore that I’d talk with her soon
I would sit by her side when the streetcar arrived
and I’d start with a “Hi how are you?”
So I went to get gum at the Garfields
to chew it and mask my bad breath
in breathless preparation
for
a moment bringing rebirth or death
The man at the counter asked how I’d been
I told him that I’d been okay
He said “Is that why you look so cheerful then?”
and I asked “What did you say?”
When I picked up his friendly sarcasm
I was about to justify
why I don’t smile when I suddenly saw
that the streetcar’d already arrived
The girl with the smile was just ahead in line
but somehow some other man
had me beat for that sweet seat beside her
though without any romantic plan
I was about to turn around to sit
just ahead and across the aisle
when she pulled that red bow of her mouth once more
and unwrapped me another smile
So I thought “She must really have liked me
to smile sweetly two times in a row
so I was determined to talk with her shortly
or else I might not ever know
I decided to ride until she got off
to catch up and then talk with her then
so I stayed in my seat and I missed my stop
because I might not see her again
As the streetcar came closer to Parkdale
I was ready to spring for the door
but my matching that place
with her sweet chocolate face
was it racist or merely a bore?
At Spadina I expected this angel
to descend into some trendy hell
but if tempted she didn’t show it
her hand never reached for the bell
At University all of the Shriners
who’d gotten on at the Motel strip
stumbled drunkenly out into their parade
but she still continued to sit
When Yonge street came she got off the car
Would she go into the Hudson’s Bay?
“Oh goddamnit no”
I had to pay again
just to follow her on the subway
I trailed her fifteen bodies behind
and caught up with her on the platform
“Hi” I said with relief in my voice
and she gave a “Hi” in return
I told her she was very beautiful
“Thanks” she said, kind of indifferently
“What’s your name?” I asked and she said “Dashine”
showing pride that her name was unique
“I’m Christian” I told her with even more pride
She said “Hi” one more time to my name
then I said “Hi” in response to her “Hi”
just to balance that stale greeting game
“Do you work out in the west end?” I asked
She said “No, that’s where I live”
“and where are you headed for now?”
I asked
She told me “I’m meeting a friend”
“Oh ya” I said for the sake of response
as the train slid up packed end to end
“Oh shit” she said in response to the crowd
but we managed to squeeze our way in
As the train jerked itself into motion I asked
“Do you go to school or do you work?”
“I work” she said and she seemed annoyed
asking “What are all of these questions for?”
“Oh... I... ah... oh... I’m sorry” I said
She told me that it was okay
“I need to ask questions to talk” I said
She said “I’ve had a trying day”
“Do you always smile as sweetly as that
when you’ve had a trying day?” I asked
She rolled her eyes in response to that
like she was taking both of those smiles back
on a web running back to her spidery guts
which had spewed them out with so much art
Now both of those smiles she had given me
left a sour aftertaste in my heart
I hung nervously from the overhead bar
while the cookie that is my poor heart
was crumbled in the grip of the moment
and it fell to the floor of the car
I tossed her a couple of whimpering smiles
without daring to look in her eyes
but the limp smiles that she handed back to me
were just anorexic good-byes
At Wellesley Station she got off the train
I followed but got washed far behind
by the counterflow of the passenger flesh
descending to get on the line
I tried to intercept her
by ascending a clearer stairway
to explain why I’d taken such trouble
but by now she was too far away
But I should’ve found some way to tell her
I should’ve climbed on a transfer dispenser and shouted
I should’ve hijacked the fucking public address system
and screamed this message out
to every post pubescent girl
and every woman there
with their chromosomal licenses to tease
Don’t smile at me unless you wanna have sex with me
Don’t bend that lovely bow to use my heart for target practice
Don’t smile at me unless you wanna have sex with me
Don’t make my hormones go and then tell me you’re just an actress
Don’t smile at me unless you wanna have sex with me
No comments:
Post a Comment