Caliban: Poems - Softcover

Big Tommy pushes Little Tommy down the stairs.
Little Tommy’s the size of a horse but slower.
Sprawled in puddled oil,
he turns to me as if to continue speaking.

Then Big Tommy gets mad
and I have to squinch my eyes at the gravel.

To me he says, "Act good."

The three of us are stocking convenience stores this summer,
overturning Toyotas,
and bar-hopping to big-screen baseball.

At midnight we head into the hills with whiskey
and cases of ammunition.
We don’t like moose interfering with our drinking
with how we want one simple damn thing.

At dawn we’re naked, crashing through bushes
into Melanie’s back yard.
Small things flail at us with wings as the sun flashes.
I smell fried eggs. Somebody’s awake.

Somebody who loves us.