I retired from the SUNY Buffalo English Department in 2004. Have published a dozen or so collections of poems. Such my addiction to the sport of squash racquets my headstone is to read: "ONE MORE GAME?" See more of my poems HERE.
POEM WITH REFRAIN
How that night you sought me, slipped from skirt
and blouse, and stole into my bed softly,
and lay touching naked breasts to my bare back,
where I lay wakeful, and feigning sleep;
and how your small kisses caressed, your fingers
drifted over me, and over and over
your murmuring made the repetitious bliss
of wavelets rippling home to mother shore:
"Don't go. Don't leave. I love you. I'm sorry.
I understand now. I promise you I'll change.
Only let me love you, and everything will be
as it was when we were first in love..."
And how--do you remember?--I was quiet,
and didn't turn to return your kisses.
No, I was staring at the wall, and thinking,
"Where...where have I heard this shit before?"
And how, though I was stone there, you persisted
until I sensed within your murmur, then knew
precisely where I'd heard all that before:
my own voice (urgent, honeyed) murmuring
time and again to this woman or that,
who lay--as millennia of women have--
pitiless, chilled, alone, in the dark, thinking,
"My god, no, not the same shit as before!”
© 2019 Irving Feldman
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