by David Spicer
Thanks for answering the ad.
If you want a spot on my delivery
truck, arrive prepared to follow me.
If you’re a convicted criminal or
another kind of parasite, don’t try
to smuggle your affection
through the open gate of my heart.
I’m a recluse who’s survived for a reason,
and if I don’t appreciate the kindness
of spaghetti dinners or potatoes au gratin,
it means I need a jumper cable for my love,
and you can try right now to snuggle.
Hey, nobody can fix a warped boomerang,
a tale with too many holes, or a promise
that conceals lies. If you want to fight
a revolution, enlist in the people’s army
and carry the loudest flag to the border.
Surprise me, brag on me, buy a pink
kitchen sink. I could use a scolding now
and then. Plant a peck on my cheek,
peel a few Romas from my farm.
A bottle of muscatel couldn’t hurt.
So, give to my favorite charity,
or crawl back to your hellbox of a trailer.
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.