You don’t need an
iambic two-step
to hold me close
or the stress and rests
of trochee.
The young man
from Nantucket
is not that well-built
and someone should have
punched Ogden Nash
in the nose
if you ask me.
You are the person
clapping off-beat
the one there
in the last row
with the torn jeans
and sneakers
who stared up
into the graveyard moon
that night you lost it
in the back of the Buick
and you knew then that
flesh against flesh
was good even when
it wasn’t.
The only form
I care about
is the one
inside those jeans
and once I get them off you
I’ll show you
what rhythm
is all about.
Very nice. Reminds me of the poetry of Richard Braughtigan, but I don't recall if we've ever discussed his writing, prose or poetry. I try to read it as if I didn't know you personally, and it's something I wouldn't be surprised to see in The New Yorker or any publication that runs such writing. Thanks for sharing this.
ReplyDeletevery cool
ReplyDeletethis is fantastic todd!
ReplyDelete