Her Name Is Candy by Jay Passer

grape apple cherry
the flavors of Candy
the lipstick of Candy
piano low on the radio
scalp needs a good scratch
sipping and contemplating
scars on skin white and pleading
to the god up there please martyr me
I could use
a sandwich a burrito a bowl of rice
rain falling or oceans at the shore
some pup sickeningly loyal
I could use a piece of Candy
I can go to the corner store for a piece
what the hell
it’s as good a system as any, right?
ask the veteran, he nods his head
on crutches or wheeling backwards in his chair
past Macy’s
there’s a certain stench about the whole business
and yet two times a dozen tourists make 5 times the cop presence
now we’re talking
streetwalking lollipop
Union Square
breath caught low in the throat
no surprise at the bus stop
lying prone with a cardboard box for a house
dreaming
inside of a shower inside of a bank an outhouse an industrial complex
there’s no room in the Officer’s Club for
sweet girls named Candy
only in the barracks
plum apricot guava
the tastes of market value manufactured in chemical factories
something in the skies
helicopters and satellites continuing to offer wonderment
in lieu of cartoonish physics
Candy smiles she’s slow clicking on those stilettos
now we’re talking

Jay Passer's work was first published in Caliban magazine in 1988. He lives in the Tenderloin District of San Francisco, the city of his birth.

Jay Passer’s work was first published in Caliban magazine in 1988. He lives in the Tenderloin District of San Francisco, the city of his birth.

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