Little Liza by Jack D. Harvey

Vietnamese Girl by Vyacheslav Argenberg

That's your name?

Butter could never melt

your Thai mouth,

making English words

in far-off Bangkok,

where playgirls

looking for cock to bang,

what else,

zip along

on motor scooters,

looking for you, brother,

taking you

right, right, left, left,

right to Hotel Ecstasy,

right into your arms,

palsied with desire.

Two by two

or in a bunch,

like Brantôme's band

of jolly jumpers,

the black-maned cowgirls

of Soi Cowboy

stand at the doors,

the windows,

cruise the streets

wide-eyed and ready for

bumpy combat, a little

of the old in and out;

for a long moment

more than a thumb plugged

in the eternal hole in the dike.

The value of satisfaction

in the vales and dales

of loamy female loins;

your wild oats measured out

in the coin of any realm.

Leetle kid,

you fockee me?

Shy girl-lashed

paratroopers hem

and haw.

Beautiful, transporting as bhang

in this carnivorous market,

the boyhood dreams come true

and the boys dream,

dropping their pants and

Little Liza or

whatever your proper name,

your dark Asian eyes,

your furry doolittle

not wet with

tears of love for

me or Joe Bunkbuddy

or any little thing.

First published in DuanePoetree

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Jack D. Harvey’s poetry has appeared in in many venues.

The author has been writing poetry since he was sixteen and lives in a small town near Albany, New York.