Mar 27, 2011

State of the Poem

Maiden of the Press

They said I should go, relax, travel,
I'd been too long, too tense,
Needed to live to breathe,
Go see the sights, see some leg,
So they said.

Italy was great this time of year,
The travel agency had posters,
Planes to fly, Hotels to stay,
A car for the back roads,
So I went.

The plane ride seemed endless,
Customs had none,
The hotel was soulless,
The car my only salvation,
So I rode.

Campagnia was full of orchards,
Some were tourist stops,
Some were closed,
But one had a sign with no one in sight,
So I stopped.

There was only one building beside the house.
Where everything was lush and green,
Only one person to greet,
She asked if I wanted to see how they worked,
So I followed.

Inside I found more olives than I'd ever imagined,
Black and green,
Whole and mashed,
Standing at a vat, her arms deep in the oil, she struggled,
So I helped.

It was hot on that day, and her skin shone from oil,
Her breasts heaved with the effort,
My hands slipped along her arms,
The cog came loose, she asked how to thank me,
So we kissed.

It had been a long time for me, she was the guide to my tour,
Our hands spread the oil,
Our lips spread our heat,
Clothes slipped from us easily as we slid to the floor,
So we loved.

They were right to run me off, you know.
I got rid of the tension,
Learned how to breathe,
I sold my business, cashed in on my stock,
So I lived.

Now we have more help to run the orchard,
Three sets of hands,
And much more leg,
Our lovely young daughters have made our life sweet,
So I smile.

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