Goddess Dementia
By Patrick T. Reardon
Goddess Dementia, come, waltz with me
down gray floors,
along sour green walls,
through Muzak air.
Undress me in my doorless room.
One button at a time, unfasten my pajama top,
unbutton the crotch of my bottoms.
Slip the blue and white stripes
off my purple-marbled legs
with your prying fingers.
Come, waltz with me.
On cool sheets, I squirt an arc of urine in the air,
my eyes on your eyes.
Your babe. Let us cuddle.
I mouth your plump nipple, suckle.
You run cool hands along my thin blotched skin
as if to flood me with blood. I faint.
Come, waltz with me.
You mount me like an angel, like a dancer, like a church.
Your dark hair storms.
My eyes on your eyes.
You smell of soil.
You proffer me a vision in your grotto,
Queen of the Universe,
Queen of Victory,
Lady of Sorrows.
You whisper in my ear a secret.
You whisper in my ear good-bye.
Come, let us waltz.
Patrick T. Reardon
6.1.20
This poem originally appeared in UCity Review on 11.27.19.
Written by : Patrick T. Reardon
For more than three decades Patrick T. Reardon was an urban affairs writer, a feature writer, a columnist, and an editor for the Chicago Tribune. In 2000 he was one of a team of 50 staff members who won a Pulitzer Prize for explanatory reporting. Now a freelance writer and poet, he has contributed chapters to several books and is the author of Faith Stripped to Its Essence. His website is https://patricktreardon.com/.