In Prison

they called him Ojos de Leon.

Cassandra Dallett

He is beautiful

even in a dead drunk snore.

His skin velutinous, never needs lotion.

He looks through golden eyes half-blind

 intoxicating with their creeping greenness

and its contrast on black lashes.

He claims to tire of compliments but mentions all of them.

He resents love its conditions and its shortcomings.

It can’t change

his un-lovable-ness.

So he numbs it

with powder and booze.

He knows he will disappoint.

He knows that in the beginning

we will see him as we want

rippling muscle and tattoo

voluptuous lips

waist a tight v, ass round.

At first meeting he looks you dead in the eye.

Holds you.

His stare a dare

to see him through his blunts and bottles

his three kids and counting.

He is still settling to his own murky bottom.

There is intercourse in his look.

He’s sizing up the strength of your backbone

and like the lioness you will have to work for this.

But all you can do is wonder

if he’ll look at you like that

when you are underneath him

 sturdy paws around you

You imagine the moment his smooth chest

becomes ruddy

the tiniest goose bumps rising.

Motherless eyes say

you don’t know

the river

of pretty-broken-things

that runs beneath

this lion’s exterior.

Cassandra Dallett lives in Oakland, CA. She is mother to four kids and two Pit bulls. She finds them all loving and loyal, but says you never know when one of them will bite the mailman, or the Spanish teacher. When not cooking for her army she writes poetry and short stories of memoir. Cassandra has published in Cherry Bleeds, The Chiron Review, Yellow Mama, Gutter Eloquence, Ascent Aspirations, Criminal Class Review, Poetry Super Highway, Nibble, The Milvia Street Journal, and The Beat Museum of San Francisco.