8
He wanted them
the bruises so easily hid
by longsleeves and Levis
on his sister’s sparrow limbs
but settled for stuffing guilt
in a pillow with his fist
to “Knock some sense” into it
and stockpiled cotton from aspirin jars
to jam in his ears
at night when Uncle Jack bowled
with empty Coors bottles
down the hall.
But the t.v. in his head
broadcast live all night--Candelaria’s
face, mute and splotched as the moon.
12
“They don’t want
half black and Mexican boy children,”
the Foster lady said, shuffling his papers
to the bottom of the heap.
All he wanted
was that squishy flap flap
when he replaced baseballcards
with pollywogs in bicycle spokes.
And he wanted
their snake tongued arms, inky
devils with hard-ons and rose tears
wrapped around him even as the water line
of hatred rose in his heart,
and moonspill fell on Masters of the Universe
sheets soaked with pee.
18
Monica spit his ring out, said
he’d flunked two blood tests
she was through
and wrote, “does not want you” on the poster
of the finger pointed like a gun.
(Same stanza)
The hammer in his heart smashed
what was left
cruisin’ Kings Canyon with Lil’ Player
crooning, “I want you, I need you,
and I love you”, firing rounds
at the Bus Depot
Ladies Room.
28
Have you seen me?
says the carton he tips
upward to drain, behind the dumpster
in back of Chow Fun’s
where his name rumbles nearby on t.v.
like a father who might as well be on the moon,
like a homeboy he once knew
and now wants to forget.
She’d wanted a fix
left him with a maid at Motel 6 after
she delivered on a garbage bag.
It wasn’t that
she didn’t want him
it was just that helium fog
stepping off the ledge into
nothing that she wanted more.
And now he’s wanted
nationwide, his face, dark
as a bruise on syndicated t.v.
news, where they re-enact his crimes
the ones he’s finally wanted
for.
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