Poetry by Gavin Flaherty

ny eve

The French girl asked us to look

The two of us

Myself and Madeline

“ She has the strangest pussy “ she said

The three of us bent to inspect

Four in the bed and we bent to look

New Years eve in the candlelight and we looked upon

the sight in awe

Myself, Madeline, and Marie the Parisian

We looked upon Trish’s pussy

It was different

The flower lacked petals

As if a zipper had just gone down on plastic

Clean – Aquiline

Unique

She was an athletic and slender Italian

A puff of untrimmed pubic hair reinforced her

lesbian roots

Yet that was not the whole picture

Naw, lipstick and uncertainty-The both of them

Why else the interest in my cock

Whiskey dick, shriveled like a piece of overcooked

ziti

Why the interest in making it hard and her pride at her success

Lesbians you say

Lipstick I ask

Her pussy so pure and aquiline

Why the desire to give it away while her girl

friend left to shower

And why Marie’s desire to like wise give it up

while the girl with

the aquiline pussy slept

My charm perhaps?

More likely the old penchant of lovers

To beat each other’s head with a human being

The next afternoon when I awoke to the near

apocalyptic horror of a

new year’s day hangover

I was glad only Madeline was left in my bed

Gavin Flaherty was born
in 1962 in New York City. After moving to the Boston area as a boy, he first moved to Maverick Square in 1984. It was an epiphany. After traveling and living in many places he and his wife settled for good in East Boston. They intend to live here forever. They have extended family in the neighborhood and consider it by far the best place to live in Boston.

BIG DADDY FIREBALL

I rode the train home from Jamaica Plain
with an anecdotal virus on my mind
It had been nice to see Wild Bill
Some months it had been since I'd
seen him last
He was not so wild at all this twilight
Not somber - Not self ingrossed
Focused and Dry of Budweiser
It had been a strangely cheering sight to see
Bill up to his elbows in old notebooks
Piles of paper all over the kitchen table
There is a special kinship between those
who must scribble and scratch
Too tired in life to do much else
The purity between pencil and page
You need serve no one
So this was what he did when we were not together
When our tales flew back and forth
Bursting forth like glorious Jets of steam
When we were on an oratory roll
Feeding on each others energy
Breathing in the sweet tavern air
And spewing forth pearls
Sweet too to see him in his quiet house
Engaged in what appeared a ritualistic purge
It was like looking upon myself
We snorted some of the heroin
he'd brought back from New York
We smoked cigarettes and
Drank chinese tea
No liquor touched our lips
And we hardly talked at all

E and J

Wondrous snares

and graft

Police with white sneakers

The oil clots and seeps

Like a cancer

The street lines need painting

Repainting again

It’s spring in the Stack fringe

Why can’t the rains

Wash the filth away

Graffiti with dates

Shows the oldness too soon

Chicken from the shelter tastes good

But you must surrender for it

You must give up

Mashed potatoes too

Summer winds treat everyone the same

So does Ernest and Julio

Burgundy makes me sleepy

Pretend makes me sick

THE BULL

I guess I saw him coming out
of the corner of my eye.
Hadn't thought much of it really.
This was one of the safer projects.
Even if I was white.
And even if it was a strange city.
But the fear in the eyes of the tall
thin puerto rican who had just handed me
the Dope.
That sounded the alarm.
He looked in the direction from where
the other was coming.
His eyes flashed fear and an apology
as he stepped back to leave me a lone target.
A bowling pin,alone and white.
He was 275 pounds,a human battering ram
running full tili.
I might have been a matador.
Or more a low fence unseen as
I ducked low andaway.
The enforcer was airborne.
I did not stay to watch him land.
Old feet becameyoung in the electric now.
I was nearly to the car I think
before I heard the enormous thud.
I stood and looked back at the bull.
The skinny one had disappeared.
"I almost got ya" he yelled.
"Not on your best day" I replied with the
pretense of confidence.
The bull laughed and then said amiably
"You gotta learn where to shop"
The enforcer was ok.
He was just doing his job.
He seemed to enjoy it.
"I think I just did." I replied to let
him know i'd received the message.
The bull smiled.
His posse was nearly 50 yards away and
all 350 pounds of Jesus Guerrera was
sitting waiting for me in the car.
"How to watch my back Gordo" I snapped as I got in.
The game was over.
My head was still attached and
I knew where to shop.
The sun was shining and it was
a glorious winter day.
I had broken one of my oldest rules.
Never stop for the first man.
As we drove toward the bulls gang,I wondered.
If they had the juice,why did they let
the skinny one and his spotter
set up in front of them.
Go figure sometimes.
As we drove by the gang all hudled
one yelled at the car.
"why didn't you come here" he asked.
So I yelled back the truth.
"Next time I will" I said.

THE SURE THING

And we walk to the corner store
as if there were a wind there

And we call on friends   and lovers
as if there were a wind there

And we take our fill of angels
as if there were a  wind there

And  some carry out Satan’s work
And we chase the fiery tail of religion
And we hug the pillows in an empty bed
And we trade our dreams for silver
And we do the Sultans bidding
And we plead the cause of others
And we reach to darkest space

as if there were a wind there

And we travel south in winter
And we travel light and quickly
And we've seen this rerun before

As if in fact of being
a wind will blow us home

And we juggle their emotions because
they've not had time to learn

And we hate them when they hate us
for they do not possess the wind

And we plunge toward that which greets us
Toward what graciously rescinds

We fall with lack of wisdom
to where we know there is a wind