It occurs to me
in so many languages
sounds along the lines
of mama
mean mother, mom, mommy, mama
meaning that
since time immemorial newborn babies have had the audacity
to name their mothers
and their mothers
have had the humility
to go with it

what has me wandering the wharves
looking for crime without purpose
and love without affection
what squishes my blue sailor
tight-weave wool skullcap
down around my bronzed crown
what pulls my strong thighs and sculpted ass
into my white linen sailor bell-bottoms
what squeezes pimples on my legs
and ashes a slow cigarette over my victim’s mangled torso
what drives me on from port to port
always ready for a drink a cunt an ass a knife a murder and theft
stashed into my memory chest
kept to incriminate me
someday some golden day
some wonderful final day
on the way to the gallows
where my corpse will shit and cum and piss itself
one final time
one final victory
over the rules and regulations
of my time and our place

Querelle,
I despise you
I loathe you
I condemn you
I remember you
I miss you
I am sorry for
what we were
and what we became
for
what we knew
and
the conclusions we drew

Querelle,
I want a do-over
I want God again
and someone who cares
I wish for friendship
and a justice as kind and gentle
as the red sun sinking in a blue and yellow sky into the soft waves blue now gray now steel now stolen when
we were young
and proud of our bullshit
bullshit’s always proud
of itself

Querelle,
I am sorry
We misunderstood one another
and the rest
That was our pleasure

Querelle,
I’m tired
and alone

Querelle,
What now?

Author: BW
Editor: AW
Copyright: AMW