Your web-browser is very outdated, and as such, this website may not display properly. Please consider upgrading to a modern, faster and more secure browser. Click here to do so.
Before my father flocked to it with tools,
what was once a slab of moldy gray
sat lights-off below the kitchen
where odd Halloween creatures poked
out of bubble wrap
in boxes towering
by mom’s Ineverwinanything Sears-
raffled gingerman Christmas tree
But he’s forever itched to keep busy.
So he hammered out the closet
for a cheap man’s
dry-walled the place a little warmer
and painted it fresh –
carousel red, sandy yellow
and a bluer periwinkle
It was mine after –
with a U couch
that I shared with a girl.
We aren’t together now –
but when the left wing of leathery cushion
hoisted our gentle bodies together
it shared our touches
and shaped itself to the way
my foot dug into it
when our legs were a knot
She listened in the same spot every day.
And once I actually did
sit next to her.
My eyes casted intervals of intuitive gazes
between the symmetry of economic charts
and her breasts.
My pupils dilated madly like a newborn’s
during the stretches of quarter seconds
spent tracing across her, unnoticed.
I asked her for a pencil,
ignored the one buried in my pocket
scratching my thigh
for any excuse to discover her name.
When she revealed it, I sat sweaty and rigid,
rolling the letters round my head
as I frantically flipped through any acceptable pickup lines,
but decided to kamikaze it.
When we were released
from the supply and demand
of notes and inky doodles,
I made sure she knew
what a stranger thought of her
while I still had a throbbing nerve
Page 1 of 20