Literary Liaisons

Literary Liaisons

When he tells his wife that he's going
to the Library, he doesn't say that
it's the name of a gentlemen's club

where he studies the slinking gyrations
of Jasmine Joys, reads the curves
of Virgin Wolf, and researches the confused

stare of Teaser Eliot while they write
their literature onto a mirrored runway
with the nibs of five-inch stiletto heels.

Yet, he finds it odd when she says that she's
going to the library and applies a fresh layer
of mascara, then leaves in her lowest-cut dress,

and returns five hours later cradling
a taxidermy text. She's never shown
an interest in that discipline.

Whitey

Whitey

Mama said you had the moonglow,
but everyone knew you were albino.

When the old man got drunk
down at the bar and beat you
to erase his mistake, you didn't cry.

After he split and Mama went to the bar
and spread her legs to catch a man who'd feed us,
the kids at school yelled, Hey Whitey!
Who'd your mama fuck last night?
Pink-eyed and pale, you charged them,
but they just laughed and threw you
down to scrub your face in the sand.
Still, you didn't cry. You never cried.

Then when Mama froze on the asphalt,
too drunk to find the car ten feet away,
we went to school the next day
'cause we didn't have nothing else.
You stood in the hall, your head down,
and your fists balled-up in your pockets
while they screamed that Mama
was nothing but a whore anyway.

And as you used your shirt-tail to wipe
the tears from my cheeks,
I gazed up, hoping you'd
rub through to my moonglow.

Memo

Memo

I keep a picture
of my father
in my wallet
and look at it daily
to remind myself
how often he told me
I was not his son.