Brian Charlton / To Helen

To Helen, {The amnesia in her kiss}

Brian Charlton

When the rain comes the dogs all lose their way. The rain picks up all scents and reason for home. Confused on the side of the road. Waiting for the smells to pick up. A dog in the rain I am.

But the rain has just cleared. Soaked up with worms. I travel to sit in the right spot. Brown paper bags. Dull cartoon shade beards. A stick and polka dot cloth. All the essentials on a bumpy street using my nose to find homes. I come to a curling tree, shading as I approach. It holds her kiss.

Singing under the cardboard sun back perched on a tree’s thigh. Pissing with one leg up sitting in the shade barking the blue suede blues. A brilliant window niche

opens to my naked chest. She was gone and I was drunk and bear trapping such thoughts. Where was she now? Next to me, I bet. Drunk. I bought her a gumball ring made of quarters. That’s all she needed. The bed sheets still sweat her name. Rain created the ocean and I bet she floats. Somewhere off a perfumed sea.