December 1998 / Volume One / Issue Three
David Gerstle
The Hole in Mine

          My cats lick each other's asses while mine goes
           noticeably unattended        and I wonder
Where are those bright men in blue
                                      sweat pants
           sticky necks and soiled sneakers?
Where are the urinal cakes they hid
                                      inside their shorts?
Where are those clammy palms which stole
          a glancing squeeze of my tiny ass
          eyes glowered as a hawk's
                 slender cheek bones like
          two lizards pushing up through the sand.

Are they here?   Dancing through the forest
          clutching leaking garbage bags did they
search the backyard shed for that elusive pair of
                      bloody underpants?  Or did someone
blow on a dandelion send them spiraling wobbling in
          pregnant helicopters over a perspiring ocean
               of dirty airport bathrooms.

Did it hurt when you died?  Did someone say
          "
HE FUCKED LITTLE BOYS"     and then fall
speechless?  Did they fold your curious hands
           over your chest are you
                  airtight in titanium?
                  Are your eyes powder now?

Do you ever think of me?  Am I a cave painting
                     on the walls of your skull or
            a clipped-winged angel soaring into your mouth?
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