Lorraine Merrin

November 16, 2011

“The Annual Officers’ Club Party…” by Lorraine MerrinPosted by

Lorraine Merrin

THE ANNUAL OFFICERS’ CLUB PARTY SUDDENLY COMES TO LIFE

Late Summer 1973

Women in cocktail dresses
feign interested politeness
as their men wheel and deal.
She glides into the room
like honeysuckle vine,
conquering in full bloom:
black leather knee-high boots,
a mini-skirt, stretch-lace body shirt,
and hair down to here.
Every man’s head swivels
and feminine radar
sounds an alarm.
Her flirting is like
skin or green eyes
or breathing.
The guys fall hard
and she’s not even
beautiful.
The pulse of the room quickens
as a whisper of turmoil
stirs the air
feathers
have been ruffled,
and all she’s done is walk in.

—from Rattle #25, Summer 2006

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Lorraine Merrin: “I write to tell stories, to record voices, to offer a small history of the lives I have known, observed or imagined.” (website)

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May 19, 2010

“Around the Corner of Midnight” by Lorraine MerrinPosted by

Lorraine Merrin

AROUND THE CORNER OF MIDNIGHT

He’s gonna’ drink that ale
and watch the action,
see what there is to see,
catch a dance or two if somethin’

long-legged ’n lovely catches his eye.
He’s gonna’ dance real close,
slink tight to her swivel ’n
just about die wanting to look

to see do I notice.
Then he’ll sit with his boys,
his fingers pushing circles of wet
glass-sweat across the tiny table top,

while he scans the room,
so he won’t appear to be
in a hurry to strut over here.
Yeah, I see him over there,

hangin’ out ’n lookin’ cool
in tight jeans ’n gold chains,
but if he wants me, he’s gonna’
have to show me just what it is he’s got.

I ain’t walkin’ around the corner
of midnight for just any guy.
I only got one heart ’n right now
it still belongs to me.

—from Rattle #22, Winter 2004

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Lorraine Merrin: “I love the green and wet of the Pacific Northwest, where I now live. However, I am a child of the Southwest desert and that dry, heat-soaked landscape and its people are in my blood. In that same way, stories and poems are in my heart; they tumble out, waiting to be connected to and carried away by the mouths and hearts of others.” (website)

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