pockets

Another audio Poetry Thursday production.



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pockets

plug the poem
with things we hide
love for a man
hatred of the man
venom and sputum
love and dreamy lust
dressed in finery
swords in words
made to go down
like broth
metaphoric elixirs
delicious to the ears
a slow poison
it creeps up on you
at the supermarket
you ponder
the politics of beef

this poem
is pockets full of anger
a snarl at youth
who don’t know how
to use their hands
for any kind of job
tapered fingers
touching nothing’s
heart

before the pockets are full
I pull them inside out
like a fifth-grade boy
spilling his change
and lint-covered jawbreakers
to make a joke with his penis

but my pockets carry
weapons
I turn them out
to mock you
but they do not empty
the mess does not pool
at our feet
instead you see
what we are made of
and now you have to
carry it too