Maatstaf. Jaargang 24

[p. 38]

Raphael Rudnik Poems

Counterman

His rag went a-washing in stiff, short arcs that showed
Something else was going on, the surface before me bright, wet,
A mirror for his upside-down face ablaze with pleasure at...
The O, lovely flexible presence then bestowed!

Big, gleaming. Air seemed to heave her rose-petal smooth roundedness
To parturition, an ordureous sweatiness.
Flame-colored hair a shocking cloud, curdling the mind.
The tip of a towel dipped into water rubbed along blind.

Lavish thighs, whose curvature gave a jolting catch to the breath. ‘Flowers of the world -’
He said, (because they are that brute magnificence we all desire) happily girled.

[p. 39]

The Boston Strangler

A revolving ball of fire, in front of a black mirror.

Told to manipulate her limbs every day, even though
She cried, played her flat on her back and evenly and slow
Opened, closed half-sunk thighs like bellows, he had to hurt her
To help her, she was his child loved very deeply, not dead,
Silver-shadowed hair, twenty-five cents yellow ribbon bow.

All this talk about intercourse and strangling(s) with strangers -
He never struck at anyone, only images, no -
Attractiveness had nothing to do with it - napkins red,
Cigarettes, and stockings to tie round the neck - it alle Oh,
Left him cold now. Locked in a dull fierce gaze somewhere. ‘But, who

Sent you?’... ‘OK. The Superintendant. Says something's wrong here.
Your bathroom, got to check it out’... ‘I don't see no leak, where?’
‘Lie down’... ‘I can't do nothing, my doctor told me: “No”’ ...‘There’
‘...I gave him to eat, and in the summer I sent his bed
To the country. Immer! I don't feel well.’ - Deep, deep, deeper,

A ball of fire revolving in front of a black mirror.