What’s-Her-Face, The Janitor
by Henry Goldkamp

  1. We talked now and again—I really just liked to see
  2. the gold part of her tooth, the brass knob of the church
  3. that made her hands smell funny after touching it too long,
  4. the music pounding upstairs (while it happened), the smoke
  5. massaging her sister’s acreage, its delicious smell, bright
  6. chemicals in a mop bucket, heat in her ears boiling up
  7. like them and them alone are blushing. Eating parking
  8. lot fish with what’s-her-face inhaling fresh summery tar,
  9. looking at her pockmarks like a greased sky. She changed air
  10. filters and gave advice, unafraid of ladders, ate standing up
  11. over the crushed Busch can in the bed of her truck. That rattle
  12. told her about how fast she’s going because speedometer’s crap.
  13. How could anyone forget a name like that? We swallowed fish bones
  14. out loud, lucky guesses, and sipped denim lemonade like lovers.
Packingtown Review – Vol.9, Fall 2017

Henry Goldkamp lives in Saint Louis & New Orleans with his wife and three dogs. Most important to him is realizing how damn lucky this is. His work is in Mudfish, Hoot, Straylight, and others; his public art has been covered by Time and NPR. For more about his work, google “henry goldkamp” with a fresh drink of your choice.

  1. Bill Yarrow
    Lobbying for Compromisepoetry