Thursday, August 13, 2020

 Dear Henry,

how does it feel how does it feel to get old like summer in Chewelah like sugar pie an unmanageable stain a kind of hoarding I abandoned my clothes Hugh Hefner wore a suit in public enough already with the stained smoking jacket and coiffed hair tug your sweater across your stomach dear or sit with a pillow on your lap watch the bone gaunted mules pull cart across Wyoming I gave you my hung my pedicure my airplane hangar everything in aspic how many evenings you wasted soaking your foot in a bowl of hot water and Epsom salts it’s time to stage a fake suicide scatter your final notes everywhere including the Aurora Bridge and the mighty Mississip swallow whatever Jesus puts in your mouth choose another child an empty prize bent toward the shack where they gut fish where we gutted ourselves the artist who created Superman had a gig on the side drawing for an S and M fetish mag knew it wasn’t ripe but he kept eating guttural momentum would it make a difference to the sperm splurging split that morning I bought steaks and a GI Joe doll roasted the hairpin that hid your surgical coin folded it into the secret girl book this morning I’m looking for you not one bit shy buster not one bit plague or earwig in your egg drop soup I am hammer toed I am a hammerhead shark waking up God


4 Comments:

Blogger Ms. Moon said...

Gutted indeed.

August 13, 2020 at 11:46 AM  
Blogger 37paddington said...

"Tug your sweater across your stomach dear or sit with a pillow on your lap" Some lines innocent seeming find their mark. Another covid poem? It could be.

August 13, 2020 at 1:56 PM  
Blogger Radish King said...

Mary thank you.

August 13, 2020 at 4:09 PM  
Blogger Radish King said...

R from my mss but it feels right to me. Never an innocent line I feel the sting in that too. ❤️

August 13, 2020 at 4:10 PM  

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