“Wrapped Up in Skin, Hidden behind Eyes” by Gina Troisi
My stepmother, Brenda, picks out a movie for us to watch: Fatal Attraction. Sitting on the sectional couch with her feet propped up on the coffee table, Brenda says, “Makes you think twice about where to put your dick.”
“The Graceless Age” by Kent Nelson
Anson Hempkin believed in Jesus Christ, and every night, while Faye put the kids to bed, he got down on his knees and prayed to the plastic statue on top of his television set. He prayed his roofing company would prosper, the weather would be good, and Enrique and Pablo would show up for work. He prayed the city council would grant a variance for the megahouse on the bluff, the roof for which he had a contingent contract.
“John Cage and the Anechoic Chamber” by Jay Leeming
Arranger of absences, gray-haired composer
of blank, Zen-minded man
who’d given accident a voice . . .
“Elegy for My Queer Drake” by Mark Smith
Such a murder mystery this morning,
I have barely touched my eggs.
My fattest drake is missing.
“Swifts” by John Brehm
Early fall, the light thin and brittle, and if
it’s true that deprivation is a gift,
I accept the gift. . . .