goodbyes in the time of burning taco john's
		(an easter poem)
		------------------------------------------------------------

		her no-nonsense motorbike confronts
		my no-nonsense little car hand holds hair
		the laughter silent in her stare invites
		am i taking liberties no fondle me she laughs
		out loud i dare not fondle i touch-cut
		ceremonial grooves straight lines
		tracing etching carving sketching
		fingertip for stylus gripped by ten o'clock
		near-still chill of the neoned grungy parking lot
		filled with cars filled with the lighthouse light
		of the ambulance reef of the fire truck peninsula
		not the deathly twin sister isles of the tow truck
		we think we see ahoy when sailing swaying our masts
		creaking on the ship of enthusiastic extravagant
		talk glassed in glassed out storytelling in stride
		cut in mid-splash as we rush out onto the deck of
		street life out of the ice cream hold ben and jerry's
		shop what backdrop for sayoonara romancing
		
		the taco john's is seriously smoking up she says
		now golds now reds flash bathe her skin unseen by me
		in the sun now raving up her hair in highlights
		even she could not industrially engineer to stay
		the night with her and awake with her in the morning
		i cut within the modest cut of her folk blouse simple
		slow defining strokes from top to angling down
		i'm putting chill into you no frown
		
		her no-nonsense motorbike confronts
		my no-nonsense little car some folks 
		have friends to ceremonially witness we have
		steeds instead to cut through the modest farm night
		of indiana roadspace to ride in the opposite
		directions and ruminate on this good friday
		from this good parking lot where we pose poised
		framed preserved and envisaged by the suffering
		of taco john's explicitly rising to heaven not
		unlike a pagan offering now wafting in a not-fog
		assuming the burden of all sinners but not us for
		we are pure and will remain desirous thus innocent
		protected by the sacrosanct immunity of passion
		saved by our own inescapable beauty and not by 
		this taco john's this son of god this daughter 
		of lesbos this corporate franchise ministered to
		by the anxious supplicants and apostles of the
		city of west lafayette this icon this altar
		this sepulcher of eucharist tortilla and blood
		fountaincola this framing crux this jeweler's box
		for our luxurious our intense our no-nonsense
		
		non-kissing.
		
		
			Marek Lugowski
			Easter, 1993
			Cincinnati / Chicago

			[revised 8 February 1996 Chicago]