Thursday, December 12, 2013

Focus on her wild eyes

Navy dress hits my knee,
cherry ringpop, tan 
pantyhose. Bus 189 slows to a stop 
at Kramer and Richmond.
Bye to our driver who looks
like MacGyver. Boys
and I get off and I walk   
home to a bungalow 
with green shutters.

I dont get far-- a blow
from behind sends me  
to ground. The “coolest”
of the bunch sits on top,
5pm sunlight, outside  
the store jolly ranchers cost
three cents. 

You stuff, You stuff he
laughs. The others

For his protection
we'll call him Darrell.
Darrell reaches up navy
dress, gropes new breasts,
grabs handfuls
of leaves, shoves 
into bra. They scratch 
as they break
into pieces.
Dress at waist.

Darrell walks home, hears what
he hears most nights:
plate breaks into shards, father yells/mother
screams/slaps/groans: silence.
Darrell takes apart
his legos, piece
by piece.  Darrell lies
on his back, airplanes 
suspended over his bed.

Fifteen years later. Naked
ribcage, dreams of bloody
bird wings rinsed clean.
Drying off in the dark.

In the blue barn I practice undressing myself.
The mare stares as I pinch a button—recalling,
I imagine my self under warm water, kissing a woman
until I'm airless, until each button—undone.
Focus on the mare's breath hitting the cold. Focus on her wild eyes--
not the Earth-feeling
of nakedness-- the screaming desire to trampoline
out of  body, twist my nipples into stones
to skip across the river.

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