For Men (boys)
“let the flashes come when they meet someone special.”
-Lucille Clifton, “For Sons”
I wish him childbirth.
I wish him emotional attachment from sex.
I wish him one week early
On a first date
In a white skirt.
I wish him one week late and ignored phone calls
I wish him empathy.
I wish him unable to say no because he loves me
Not because he’s easy,
But be called easy anyway.
I wish him trust.
and futile patience
I wish him well.
-June ‘09
Laundry Day
Took a left turn instead of a right;
astray,
off the unbeaten path
I found myself on the one most traveled.
My carnal appetite gorges itself on you
leaving just scraps for the rest of me.
Laundry piles circle my bed
telltale morning sunshine
drips with
residue from shameless nights.
My blues and your whites
Layer up
To make sandwiches of your desire
And my love’s leftovers.
And I wait to wash you underwear,
So I can own your scent-
But I realize nothing lasts…
And I can’t even keep your smell
As it slowly lifts off your clothes
drifting out the window to follow you
And be with you again
Leaving behind just a pile of dirty clothes
To be separated.
Rinse Cycle
I put the water on hot this time
to burn out the
sex stains
Really just
love pains
Dried into sheets in cracks shaped like church window panes
But there’s no pulpit here
No altar call
No benediction
No remedy for this addiction
To rid me of this predilection
For men like
You
Just stains that
seep into my sheets
Creep into my dreams
Crawl deep into my psyche
To spite me
Shower water will have to take the place of the holy kind to chase away all physical traces but there’s no erasing you from my head
The open Bible by the bed reminds me
Isaiah 43
That even though I walk through Fire
The flame will not consume me
But you
Con
sume
me
And Im again weak
And even though I close my eyes
I cant sneak
Cant hide from God
It’s open pages offer wisdom like sages
Only
I’m too far gone-
Drunk
off this thing you call
“love” and I call “not enough”
and you tell me you love me and I believe it
I
hold onto your words
like
word processors without spell check to check for bullshit
and your lies
and before I have time to think
I
click print, turn my paper in
Only to get it returned marked with red ink
Errors I was shielded from seeing
Too stuck on being
Your
Everything…
And as the rinse cycle switches to spin
I begin
To dial your number
Only to hear the voicemail lady tell me again
Where I know ive already reached…
A man who’s so far from truth, his language is a lie
And somehow I still love you—
But, spin’s done, time for dry.
