I'm boring. I know this.
I wake early in the morning,
walk around in boxers and socks,
listening to a classic Blue Note recording.
You don't care for Coltrane,
and you think socks and boxers
are unattractive, but you're not here.
I spend hours at the window,
drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes,
watching the neighbor kick his dog
for digging up roses. I think about poems,
and how many trees I could put in them:
birch, pine, hemlock, maple.
On the other side of the grove,
traffic rolls down the highway.
The interstate is a belt holding up
the greasy Dickies of the world.
My fifth cup of coffee: I'm buzzing—
worried by the sugar rotting my teeth,
and the way you say you love me,
when you walk into the kitchen
after a day at the office:
I love you, Sweet Butt,
my little ball-of-shit.
Grinning at the bathroom mirror,
I peel my lower lip down to my chin.
My teeth, sickly refugees huddled
on a tiny raft breaking apart in open ocean.
I teeter on the idea of calling a dentist,
but like a childish god I'm patiently waiting
for all my toys to sink to the bottom of the tub.
What did you do today? you'll ask,
flopping down a stack of paperwork.
Wearing a maroon bathrobe, I'll look
up from a Charles Simic poem, Nothing.
You'll shake your head, run your hand
through my slicked back hair, and click-clack
into the next room with a You're so boring.
I'm transfixed by the miniature whirlpool
I create with a spoon. The earth whips
around the sun. I'm clinging to its pant-legs.
All rights reserved.
Poem from my new chapbook SINK YOUR TEETH INTO THE LIGHT.
Please preorder a copy. Preorders determine the pressrun, so I need all the preorders I can get. It would mean the world to me.
My poems have been published in Massachusetts Review, Rattle, Cold Mountain Review, Euphony, and elsewhere.
You can order via the link below. you'll need to scroll down to my name. Thank you so much.