A ten year old boy




A ten year old boy
grabs the 
fishing gear catalogue
from the floor
by the door
where it fell
through the slot.
He takes it to the living room
with blanket milk and cookies
flops down on bony elbows
and flips through glossy pages
upon pages of lures like jewels
and reels of alloyed aluminum
and turned titanium
perfected machines
for catching fish
finders that now show 
not just blips in the blue
but what the fish themselves are eating
and what they ate last night
and how they feel about the weather
spool upon box upon spindle of
line and tippet and leader
floating sinking and mid-level lines
of every kind
rods of every conceivable length
and type
and quality
and material
and portability
and boxes and bags 
for all this inconceivable variety of glorious gear
and vests with a thousand pockets
and purpose-built hats 
and hip-boots and waders
to wear while using it all

and 
a man,
forty-two 
years of age,
puts down this 
glamour-mag for 
guys, this piece of 
Piscean porn, 
vaguely disappointed 
in his new-found disinterest,
wipes,
stands up,
pulls up
his pants
and flushes.







...puttin' the Poo' Po' in NaPoWriMo...

Book, Salt and River

My reply for Ramblingmums Three Nuts and a Squirrel Challenge....

_____________________________________________________________



You have opened yourself like a book,

taken that look and given it back

in folds of soft loving,

 

given me the shivered salt

of your throat

 

while the river

comes and goes,

comes

and goes





Desperate Angel

My response to the  Three Nuts and a Squirrel  challenge...
a shameless bit of Holiday smut for you...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You know what I will do
and 
you know you will not stop me.

I will
release the fragile bird that you keep 
locked up tight in 
that cage under the thin 
crust of your self control

because

I know how to crack 
that safe and I know what hides there
and how it longs to be
free of its soft prison.  I hear that treasure
ticking and trembling and I know how to twist 
and tweak those dials,
how to drive my tongue like a truck 
down 
the furrows of your flesh into that
deepest of valleys where hides 
the master switch,
releasing 
that desperate 
angel of your 
ecstacy.



we were lost

we were lost to the world
and we lost our souls
in the mud of that shed
and we slipped in the mud 
and we made it our bed

and we stayed there
and I became aglet to your grommet
and laced you in leather
and the leather left marks
on wrist and on chest
and the scars I still bear
that you left

and you fit me like fingers in gloves
and I fit you like feet 
in a favorite pair
of old shoes
and our love 
worn to a thinness 
that tore like wet tissue
like the cotton shift 
that you barely wore

and I lost track 
of where the scent 
of the speckles
of mud on
your face 

ended

and the taste 
of your freckles 
began



In response to whimsy-mimsy's challenge...