by Rob Couteau

Published in:
, spring 2009
(MD: Baltimore)


When we first met,
Edda was seated at the piano
entertaining the consul of Uruguay
while Vanessa,
the famous Montevidian soprano,
was bawling out her Verdi.

Edda’s bottom
shaped her dress
into an enormous red pear.
I confessed
how it had lured me,
how it had inspired me.
She said:
“You should have seen my ass
ten years ago.
It was in excellent form,
and Mother always said that
was the side
I should show.”
She said never to slap it,
or caress it quickly
or thoughtlessly:
I should pass my hand across it slow ~
very slow.
“That and good coffee,
is heaven.”


 fine art

Updated: 12 June 2011 | All text Copyright © 2011 | Rob Couteau | key words: poems about heaven coffee women