W H A T ' S   A  C O Y N T E ?

Unless you (were forced to) read Chaucer in school you probably 
don't know what a 'coynte' is. Coynte is a Middle English word
for my favorite part of the female anatomy.

Here's the first tale of my enjoyment of coynte. It's historical 
fictional. Call me Snake. 

Sometimes the best way to find yourself is to get lost. And I
was really doing my best.

T H E   L O S T  Y E A R S

Some had their lost weekends, I had my lost years.

Judy. Her memory haunts me to this day. I can still remember the 
fine details of her & her coynte to this day down to the 
color of the hair and the hypnotic aroma. (Despite Henry Miller's claims
to the contrary.) 

As was my habit, I was sitting on the stoop between Herr's and Berrigan's
in Bloomsburg, Pennsylvania one night. At least once a thin blonde waved
broadly and smiled as she cruised by her in station wagon. I don't remember
if I acknowledged the wave, to her or to myself. I was dreaming of beer.

I'd forgotten all about her. Suddenly Judy walked up and asked
if I would help get her stalled car started. Some wimpy guy was
tagging along. 

Back then I was always quick to seize a golden opportunity. In my best
speaking voice I mumbled I would if she would buy me a quart of beer.
Her several none to subtle come ons would have signaled to any but
the dimmest of her true intentions. One too many acid trips maybe had
muddled my thought processes.   

Having successfully negotiated this grand deal, Judy and I hoofed 
it to down to E. 5th St. near Strawberry. The tagalong was left 
behind to await our return, probably on her insistence. Her blue 
station wagon was parked in front of a dark, boarded-up school 
building. My primitive mechanical skills managed to put back a 
disconnected battery cable. Judy was ecstatic. She jumped onto
me, wrapping her arms and legs around me while I stood next to 
the car. What my big head didn't see my little one finally did. 

I never did get my quart of beer that night. I got behind the wheel 
and we drove off into the night. What transpired in her station 
wagon that night and into late the next day made history. 
 

(Another occurrence in Middle English is in "Ichot a burde in bour" line 15:

"Coynte ase columbine such hire cunde ys,")

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