My blonde friends, identical twins
Eskimo and Mohawk, called each
other Charlatan as a joke:
they confused everyone but me,
for Eskimo wore cufflinks,
and Mohawk sported permanent
goosebumps after we asked together,
Wanna be lovebirds? Eskimo shook
her head, sneered, You can’t have
Mohawk—we’re one person
with the same DNA, and you’re
nothing but a human blowjob.
I laughed. It’s our karma to fuck
said. Waiting in a post
office line, we pretended
I was worthy of one
of its WANTED posters.
Wanted by you, Eskimo,
I teased. Go deliver that line
to some catfish, Eskimo said.
You Pollyanna bitch, Eskimo,
I love this medicine man.
We connect so much I faint
like a pregnant rabbit when
I kiss him, said Mohawk.
Here’s an idea, I suggested.
twins asked in
Let’s take a bus to Sturgis,
throw a tailgate party,
and chug beer with the Invaders.
until you commit a felony
and earn that WANTED poster.
David Spicer has had poems in Chiron
Review, The New Verse News, Yellow Mama,
Alcatraz, Gargoyle, Easy Street, Third
Wednesday, Reed Magazine, Santa
Clara Review, Rat’s
Ass Review, Midnight
Lane Boutique, Ploughshares, The
American Poetry Review, and
elsewhere. The author of Everybody Has a Story and five
chapbooks, he’s the former editor of raccoon, Outlaw,
and Ion Books. His latest chapbook is From
the Limbs of a Pear Tree, available
from Flutter Press.