Two Poems
Patrick Carrington
[Total Pages: 3]
Carrington Page 1

Sophie

I always liked Sophie. Nothing tops a girl
who understands a shortage of money
and the compassion of yes,
how much that special loyalty matters
to a man at night. Sometimes

I even cross the tracks in daylight
to repay her humanity. She sure is pretty
enough. That alone outweighs ignorance
of politics and Shakespeare. I get those
at home. If you ask me, low-rent sluts

are underappreciated. So thrifty, such
a distracting sense of fashion. And
they never ask questions. Why fret



over a lack of stimulation after cigarettes
are crushed? They know how to fill time.

Ruined women adore small talk. Of scent,
or weather, how they manage to maintain
their exquisite aroma through storms.
It raises them, larger than the squall
of Samsons that washed their egos away.

I paint Sophie's toenails when it rains.
She likes purple best, says it lifts spirit
like columns by reminding her he's doing
a dime for being big, to pay for color
his long hair pistol-whipped onto her face.

I prefer red. It's lively, pounds like life
should. Either way, to relieve boredom