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KEITH J VARADI

MYSTIC, CALIFORNIA

 

There is a woman who stands

naked on Mt. Hollywood

almost every single night,

like a new age surveyor.

 

Her ID reads: Gabriela Mathis,

her signs read: Gabby Mathis.

 

She reads palms for a living

and sleeps with older men

for the pleasure of God;

her Mexican neighbors

refer to her, colloquially, as:

La Flor del Rey Supremo.

 

It's a Wednesday afternoon,

which means Gabby is smoking

Camel Lights with Abraham,

her bartender sex friend.

 

Every Wednesday afternoon,

they smoke cigs while he mops.

 

They talk about philosophy—

he studied philosophy at UCLA;

they talk about game shows—

once, she fucked Bob Barker;

they talk about their fathers—

his died in Vietnam, hers in Iraq.

 

He used to only fuck

actresses on WB shows

and other stuff like that.

 

One Wednesday afternoon,

Gabby sat down at his bar

and ordered a gin fizz.

 

He became her regular Wednesday;

sometimes they do acid together

on evenings when business is slow.

 

She always spends the night

at his place, where there are trees.

 

They watch television together

after he orgasms; he has Hulu Plus.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Circle Poetry Journal///Ministry of Obscure Knowledge  ©  2015