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TOUGH LADY |
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by Charles Carreon [This poem is not really very good, but it has a story behind it. The lady referred to in the first line is Gaea Laughingbird, or at least so she once was known. Back when she and her husband Shandor Rainbow Wind were in the first flush of their plumage. She, I sneered, exhibited her ignorance by referring to Colestine, a tough biker whore of a valley, as a pristine mountain valley. Yeah, once you peel off the tatoos and fifteen years of cigarette lines. You know she's been rode hard, and I don't mean down the highway. ]
Tough Lady Likes to call it a pristine mountain valley. It is nothing of the sort. It is a logged-out, kicked around, beaten up old piece of land, Scarred with deep-rutted skid roads, robbed of its tall timber, The haunt only of tough critters -- Porcupine, jackrabbit, quail, gopher snakes, rattlers, the occasional bear, and of course, People, whom Don Juan said must of necessity Find inhospitable places ideal.
It reminds me of somebody who's been in a fight -- a real sonofabitchin' fight that lasted a long time, until teeth were knocked out and ribs were broken and knuckles were bloodied and both participants fell back and looked at each other with suspicion and a shade of respect, feeling the absent tooth with a probing tongue.
Some people, self included, have called it land- rape, but the more I reflect, The more I conclude that Colestine's given As good or better than she's taken, And tired as she looks, I'm sure she'll make it One more round.
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