Two Poems

Adam Sass

Rosie

The old woman with a little boy’s haircut
Bends over between the tourists’ tables 
And spanks her own bottom.

Then she is dancing, 
Spinning, clapping, high-stepping
To an accompaniment of nervous laughter
That to her is just laughter.
“Why aren’t you dancing?” she cries.
“Dance with me!”

And some do, bemused men 
Who rise from their sidewalk tables 
And take a few turns in the street with her
As their wives shake their heads, smiling,
And Rosie clutches them close,
Her hands wandering downwards.

She is famous around town,
Conjuring rueful smiles,
Arched eyebrows, 
And a single question:
“Was she drunk?”

At your table she relates stories of
Distant family, Canadian winters, a house abandoned.
It’s bullshit, all bullshit, 
And she’s finally shaken it off
And come to ground in this hot place.
“They all think I’m crazy up there anyway,” she says,
And you cannot blame them,
Though hers only seems 
The north-northwest variety.

There is one story she cannot stop telling, 
A livid wound that will not close:
How she was once bound, robbed, and left for dead
In a quarry by men she thought were friends.
It took her a day and a night to crawl out again.

“They took everything, everything,” she says.
“They even took my glasses. 
They would have taken my false teeth
If they’d known about them.
Can you believe that?”
You do not say so, but you can.

At closing time she bids farewell with beery kisses
Delivered with a wet mouth and a tight grip.
Then she is off, weaving homeward, alone,
Already half-real:
A fading stroke of local color
In a painting you’ll sell your friends.

Almost as an afterthought
Someone calls out,
“Good night, Rosie,”
And now it is on everyone’s lips:
“Good night, Rosie,
Good night.” 

Reservations

“You can make reservations to swim with the dolphins…”

- A Visitor’s Guide to the Yucatan

Thank God it turned out this way,
Nature finally the grand dispatcher,
Calendar keeper, accountant, maitre d’;
Nature finally the cashier of our dreams.

At nightfall the treefrogs
Will commence their songs
By appointment.

With two day’s notice a monkey 
Will appear in the trees overhead
To shake the branches
And shriek invective.

Bring your camera—
 The lighting will be excellent.

Call ahead and a baby elephant
Will greet you at the parking lot
And douse your car with water
From its dear little trunk.

Who can put a price on such memories?

Do not hesitate to inquire
If you would like a whale
To surface beside the boat,

Or a gorilla to rush 
From the undergrowth
Beating its chest,

Or a horse and donkey
To conceive a mule
Before your very eyes.

Or when it comes to that
(And doesn’t it always?)
A heart attack in your sleep,
And outside the window
A mourning dove 
To coo its condolences
Right on time.