Poems and Texts

“SILENCE OF THE YAMS” by Lewis Warsh


I toed the line from Boca
Raton to Secaucus. My memory

bank was robbed at gunpoint
by a woman in a sari and

a man in a dress. “I confess,”
he said, “to everything,” when

the police tied him to a chair.

Need some air freshener?

You can dip your
finger into the honey pot

one last time before it gets too
late, but don’t be disappointed

if you come up empty. So much
for the forbidden games

that used to occupy my imagination.
Too young to know better, too old to cry.

My bonnie lies over the ocean etc.

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