KEEPING SCORE

KEEPING SCORE, ii


As if to jar me out of my hermetic existence,
this guy, fishing around, asks if I still believe in love,
and to keep myself near shore, far from his whirlpool eyes,
I spend the morning compiling jaded lists.
Of the multitudes, the men I've truly loved are few.
But each one left me beached after the act of conception;
and so, hare-like, three times I absorbed my young,
and practiced self-division, keeping score with prime numbers
by pounding my fist on my heart, and singing: Mea maxima culpa.
The ranks swelled—only when banished from my lover's arms,
seeking solace, I occasionally slipped off the shroud.
But I grew used to that refuge it offered—
unless they reappeared on my doorstep late at night—
apparitions, and that slender seducer, the rain, always falling.
Then, there are those whom I'm saving for a rainy day.
The indistinction between sexual and filial love is more durable,
unlike the declared half-life of an average romance.
Most nights are spent behind these cabin walls,
with only the fog, wind or stars to deceive me.
After two decades of practice, I'm tired of keeping score.
and though I've run out of hands, toes and limbs

to count on, the deluge still comes out to a slim 

1.3 cocks per year—less than the US national average
of children per family, or cars in each garage.
What about the statistics of inflation and extended families?
Have they taken serial monogamy into consideration as well?
I need an abacus on my heartsleeve just to keep track—
And so, celebating the end of my 30s,
so I tell him: yes, I still believe in love; but the ghosts
of children resurrect playing fields of trinitite while I sleep,
and the future appears as an indigo shawl spattered
with the crushed remains of stars, the color of his eyes.

7/17/90
rev. ?

Arcata

1993 We Are Not Swans, with Cecelia Woloch
1992 Tin Ear/Wire Mother (first version, below)

More Jim Dodge
Jim Dodge

BETWEEN THE LINES

Letter to Jim Dodge

1992 Tin Ear/Wire Mother (first version)




old version, replete with ascii kruft

KEEPING SCORE -As if to jar me out of my hermetic existence, )this guy asks if I still believe in love, seeking solace, I occasionally slipped off the painful shroud. /But I grew too used to that refuge it offered— 4unless they reappeared on my doorstep late at night, Elike apparitions, and that slender seducer, the rain, always falling. 6Then, there are those whom I'm saving for a rainy day. CThat indistinction between sexual and filial love is more durable, 5unlike the declared half-life of an average romance. +On Valentine's Day, my X sent me a present: .the results of his HIV test—a license to fuck. 0Most nights are spent behind these cabin walls, 0with only the fog, wind or stars to deceive me. ;After two decades of practice, I'm tired of keeping score. >I'm lousy at swine markets, and though I've run out of hands, 7toes and limbs to count on, the deluge still comes out ?to a slim 1.3 cocks per year—less than the US national average 0of children per family, or cars in each garage. =What about the statistics of inflation and extended families? ;Have they taken serial monogamy into consideration as well? 6I need an abacus on my heartsleeve just to keep track— -And so, celebating the end of my addled 30s, 9I tell him, yes, I still believe in love; but the ghosts Aof children resurrect playing fields of trinitite while I sleep, 4and the future appears as an indigo shawl spattered 9with the crushed remains of stars, the color of his eyes. 7/17/90