Eileen Hugo
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Eileen started writing poetry in 1997 as a result of visiting a poetry chat room on AOL. She lives in Stoneham, Ma. Eileen has been published in Ink Literary Review in the summer edition July 1997. She is published in the anthology, Southern Breezes published by Poet Works Press. At the Austin International Poetry Festival 2001 Eileen’s poem, The Cowboy Bar was selected for publication in the anthology 2001, a di-verse-city odyssey and was chosen first honorable mention in Christina Sergeyevna - Anthology Awards. In 2002 her poem Transference was chosen, in 2004 her poem Paper Man was also chosen in 2005 her poem The Offer was chosen be in the respective anthologies. Eileen was featured in January at the Brockton Library Poetry Series.
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Park Street Station West
Her place behind the column
hides her from transit police
but not from those who hurry
up the stairs and to the left.
Dirty tumble of yellow hair frames
face darkly blushed with subway grime.
Legs crossed in yoga fashion, form
an island of safety, wherein lies
a black wool cap that contains
a few coins and bills.
>From a red cord around her neck
hangs a picture, a serene
blonde, Jesus-like baby.
Thick black letters demand
feed her.
Hurried commuters pass by
avert their eyes
ignore hers.
Her litany grows angry.
Gimme a buck
come on gimme a buck
hey lady
gimme a buck.
Hey you bitch you got plenty.
Give me some
my baby needs food
I cringe and hurry past.
I hurry past
no backwards glance
her obscene tirade fades.
Thank god she didn't touch me
© Eileen F Hugo
Transference
Veiled conversation fills the
forty-five minute session.
Philodendron climbs the window frame
in variegated green distraction.
In the tall handsome bookcase
beautiful bindings pressed with
gilt embossed titles beg a touch.
The brass key secures the wavering glass doors,
forbids familiarity.
The smell of the leather couch and
the lure of his chest force my eyes
away and down along his thigh
to the hand-woven silk carpet.
Full-blown roses climb the oriental trellis.
I want to lie with him down in those vines,
memorize his curves
feel his breath on my skin.
"How is something going?" he asks
I don’t hear what it is but reply
"Oh very well thank you, Doctor,
our last session really helped me."
The look on his face comforts me,
my words form his expression.
Today it is quizzical at my evasion
his eyebrow lifts, perhaps
feeling as I, the storm’s approach.
If I tell him, he will send me away,
his face politically corrected to stern but fair.
"It happens frequently," he will say,
"but you have gone too far Eileen."
Or something else.
© Eileen F Hugo
