Friday, May 23, 2008

Christine



Christine was a
Beautiful little punk girl.
She had an apartment
Down by Lake Osborne.
A sugar daddy
That took care of her bills.

He would pay her
Late night visitations.
I guess it got her by.

Christine was stunningly beautiful,
And photogenic.
No one ever told her that.
I was the first.
They only wanted to keep her down.
Didn't want her to reach her potential.

Christine she loved being photographed,
Feeling like a model.
She would call me,
ell me she made us a picnic lunch.
We would walk down to Lake Osborne.
I would take her picture,
Put her on the cover of my zines.

She was so happy.
It was the only time I saw her happy.
We would sit down by the lake
Eating peanut butter and jelly.

I grew to love Christine.
We hung out all of the time.
But I knew deep inside,
She wasn't the kind of girl I wanted to love.

I wrote my first real serious Poem
At the club
Sadly watching her move on the dance floor
With blank vacant eyes.

Finally I had to do it.
I told her how I felt.
I gave her the only copy of the Poem that existed.
I told her she deserved much better
Than this life that she lived.

She read the Poem and cried,
Told me she loved me too.
But love complicates her life.
She had to move to New Orleans,
She was leaving tomorrow.
She had to do it alone.
She said she would cherish the Poem,
And promised to write.

Two years I never heard from her.
It was a shock to see her one night down on Clematis.
But Christine was different,
Something had changed.
She had a baby with her.
A baby just under two years old.

She told me she regretted leaving me.
I told her she never gave a fuck.
She proceeded to pull the Poem
And my old zines out of her bag.
I was starting to see
The world did not revolve around me and my ego.

She said she was going home tomorrow,
She needed a place to crash tonight.
So we drove to Denny's so she could eat.
She explained she got knocked up by some skinhead.
She was so ashamed she just had to leave.
Her father gave her the money
To relocate to New Orleans
And start fresh again.
She said she always loved me.
Always thought about what could have been.

Christine and I shared one night.
Nothing even happened.
We just laid there and held each other.
Her baby was climbing all over us.
I didn't care about anything I just held her.
That was as close to Christine as I would ever get.

The next morning
I took her and her baby
Back to Denny's for breakfast.
Then to the bus station
Where I held her for the last time.








Michael Grover

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