The Sighs of Lustful Girlfriends

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I’ve lost a few things
along the way.
I’ve lost the sound of my dad
laughing at Crazy Guggenheim
from the hug of his soft putty chair
which come summer
wore a tropical skirt
while a floor fan hummed
like a monastery,
a train tumbled by
like the nighttime surf,
and Adolph
the neighborhood
love struck shepherd
howled at the moon,
as fireflies danced like 
the Bolsheviks at Petrograd.
I’ve lost
the scent of my mom
who rehearsed her mournful daydreams
as she misted herself
with atomizers
that sat like royalty
on the court of her bedroom tray
in the heart of Queens
while the shiny knights of lipsticks
protected the round table.
I’ve lost
the grumbling of my sister
whose hormones attacked her like
Kamikazes
that left her floating
in a harbor of teenage debris.
I’ve lost
the throttled silence
of my grandmother
whose sanity
had long ago
left the yard
with the crack of the tragedy bat
that exiled her to
the bleachers of
the invisible mothers who
had lost their children too
who were left to stare
at an empty field
where no one
ever came home.
And I’ve lost
the sighs of lustful girlfriends
as their granny dresses
landed like parachutes
onto the mother earth floor
of their barefoot bedrooms
as they waited for me
to kiss them.
May be an image of 2 people, bed and bedroom
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