rolled to the ceiling
my eyes locked up -- frozen
&
my head cramps up
it's hard to walk around
with so much bullshit
crammed in there
like
half-written poems
&
your birthday
it's a wonder
there's any room left
for anything else
'tuesday mornings'
my old neighbor
[60's, leather skinned]
lived in a house across
the way
he built himself
[on the side of his property]
a garage and filled it
with cars
he said, 'junior -'
[he always called me that]
'junior there's not much in life
besides contentment'
and he said this
[as an old bachelor]
after his kids and ex-wife left
years ago
'you can find a number in the paper,'
[the Westword, I think]
'and if you call on a work day
it's cheap'
their cars would park, Tuesday morning
[out front, facing my house]
and a little asian would go in
then leave
and he'd come out front
[Marlb red and a Coors in hand]
and smile across the way at me
just content.
'mudfish'
You letting me do it
wasn't actually as surprising
as how well it fit. It
was like your belly sucked
my hand up there, felt like
I was wrist-deep in a jelly
fish and it was grand. I
felt that hard ball of cervix
protesting my presence and
I wrapped my fingers around
it and tugged it out of
your hole to put it in a
jar in my fridge and you
asked for a glass of water
and told me to wash my
sheets tomorrow.
No comments:
Post a Comment