Poetry

"Dame Jere"
​By Gayle Bell
Still small voice saw him first.
There be angels.
Ma’am would you mind putting these things on your walker?
I don’t get around so good.
His attaché had faded green party stickers,
the Jamaica flag, rainbow stickers,
Mondale vs. some obscure nemesis.
 
He offered his half a turkey sandwich
to a woman trying to sleep
on the anti-vagrant benches near the AA center.
 
He gestured to the crowd gates set up on Olive St.
Think they’re going to have the pride parade down here ma’am.
I laughed. I doubted it.
You going to the parade tomorrow?
Been there, got the shirt, I’m too old.
 
Well, he preened, raised a bit of his shorts
with a practiced dainty hand
to reveal a pair of orange panties
frillier than the ones I was wearing.
 
We slow-walked to the rail.
He regaled me of floats,
he, the queen of the regalia,
satins pearls taffeta
unforgiving in this lone star heat. 
 
The train broke me from the enchanted tales.
Like my momma use ta say,
just cause you’re an angel you don’t have to be a fool.
Since I was neither, I told him I had to dash. 
 
He grabbed his belongings,
thanked me for the assist. 
I curtseyed and wished him a gentle journey.
He blew me a kiss
that in times past would have held
a jeweled glove.