American Love Story

American Love Story
by mike dockins
Hallelujah, she knows how to shoot pool.
She sinks her eight ball, drinks me under
the table. I whimper for a date, a smooch,
a slap. She hits the jukebox, that old song.
I change taverns but she’s there: pigtails
that fill me with moon silt and planet jelly,
lips that just keep on being lips, little belly
I want to ski across. At home she’s on top
of the fridge, dog-earing my favorite Azorean
epic. She drives the bus I take, cleans my
teeth, cuts my hair, cashes my paychecks,
taunting me: Going out tonight, Jerry? See
you there, Doll, I say, shaking with optimism.
If I can carry the pigskin ten more yards,
she’ll take me to the movies, an action flick
with Swiss banks and tanks and jagged Alps.
I’ll miss hockey, but her swinging ponytail
is better than a puck slung on ice. Her face
becomes warm, hot, thermonuclear. God,
I love her. She has perfect teeth, a straight
spine, and thighs that make frat boys bang
petulant fists during beer pong. Lord, if I sink
this basket, she’ll marry me in Lake Tahoe: my
feet in Nevada, hers in California. If I’m clever,
I’ll slip into a triple-cherry slot, and I’ll love her
more with each rolling coin, each lucky pull.

0 thoughts on “American Love Story

  1. wow, what an imaginative piece. sort of a love poem (ish), but with gusto.
    “her face becomes warm, hot, thermonuclear. GOd, I love her.”
    the first line seems to infer that you’ve just met her, but then she plays “that old song” and that throws it off, i think you should just put in a specific song. moon silt and planet jelly?–i get what you’re saying, but given the other intuitive images in this poem i think you can be more clear than that. again, something specific. i kinda got lost around teh end of the first part with all the images, a little bit of overload there.
    also, i’m not sure what sets the line-breaks. i don’t think they did anything for the piece.

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