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Poem for Janny

“Kenneth killed Janny!”
my girlfriend ran in screaming.
We waited too long!

You’d often pleaded,
“Can we do it very soon?”
Bond, in a threesome.

We’d had them before,
with other lovers of mine.
Plus…you were ‘sisters.’

“There’s no rush,” she’d say.
“Janny’s not going away.”
And then you were gone.

In a mad moment,
when you couldn’t score for him,
Kenneth went berserk.

You were calling me.
I felt certain it was you,
and let the phone ring.

Sometimes I helped you.
Your man was hooked on free-base.
I’d give you cocaine.

Yet that once I passed,
thinking it a bridge too far.
That thought burned the bridge.

Goddamn machete!
Whenever you’d mention it,
I’d say: “Run like hell!”

But you loved the guy.
In his own way he loved you.
So you stuck it out.

Days you came to me,
a condom got left behind.
Like a calling card.

We never used them.
Though Kenneth would check your bag
to be sure you had.

‘She’s screwing a john,’
is what he chose to believe.
That’s how you proved it?

“Don’t pay me,” you’d say,
“I like lying close to you.”
But I insisted.

I wanted you safe.
I adored your gentleness,
and cherished your soul.

Prized your beauty, too;
even as I watched it fade.
Hard times took their toll.

I dreamt poems to you,
etched in silence on my heart.
We’d grown beyond words.

You counted on me
to fulfill what you yearned for.
Alas, I failed you.

Worse still (or was it?),
I also failed to shield you.
How to make amends?

What strange reluctance
on my horny girlfriend’s part.
To deprive us all.

Was it jealousy,
or the tricks she was turning,
that left her jaded?

No point in asking.
Long since an ex, and famous,
she’s far too busy.

This is time travel.
An act of deep contrition,
made in remembrance.

‘Forgive me, Goddess,
for not bringing it about.
I feel that I sinned.’

Overcome with rage,
I wished your killer hellfire.
Until a light dawned.

Kenneth was in hell!
Gripped instantly by remorse,
he tried saving you.

Took you in his arms
and raced to the hospital.
You died on the way.

Thus I cried for him,
in the same breath as for you.
And yes, for myself.

In writing this poem
I am again making love
to someone I lost.

My conscience can rest,
having shared its tears with you.
Nice hearing you smile.

Three of us in bed;
kissing, coming together.
I’ll fantasize that.

It will keep me hot
those nights when I masturbate.
Amen, precious whore.

EDDIE WOODS

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