Beguilement Of A Woman Like That

I tell you, I truly believe
ladies are magical beings,
placed on this planet to entice,
befuddle and beguile hapless males,
on the beach last night, rattling around
with this woman I’ll never see again,
me, sorta stupid I guess, like I say,
she, older, more than drunk, high
on lost sadness, no longer sure of anything,
she’s Mrs Robinson, like in the old movie,
every wet dream dreamed in unsleeping night,
we flirt around, hard to walk wet sand,
and harder to see, but yes, I’m hard too,
scarcely trust my luck, in sweet anticipations,
until her hand takes a clumsy dive into my shorts,
and I’m stumble-tongued to say something good
stammering about the crazy moon and tides,
hoping a woman like her, on this beach,
tear-eyed drunk at 3am with a stranger
can share her problems, desire and sorrow
and respond to the gravity of that moon,
she’s seen things I’ve never seen,
done stuff I can barely imagine,
a magical being who befuddles and beguiles,
people prowl their grey hyena packs,
within earshot, my mother back in the barrio
coughing blood beneath her crucifix,
sister cleaning hotel bedrooms, giving
overweight tourists blowjobs for tips,
and a woman like this, warm beside me
me, hardly believing my luck, playing around,
teasing, until she stops me – in startled insight
of what she’s doing, where it’s taking us,
strung out accusing in sordid clarity,
jumping up from the sand, leaving me here,
Levis in a confused half on, half off state,
just the moon and tides and
her body’s imprint in the sand,
my hard cock like a finger
pointing at her back