In Praise of the Other men

I see you
from the corner of my eye,
bloodshot and hazy.
You bring the call-drink dowry
and make the wedding-for-a-night vows
that you always open with.

We dance,
and I watch your perspiration give me
an outline of what I will see
if our negotiations work.
I look into your eyes
for effect,
and to prove my point.

Take me home.
Rape me to the dance floor beat
before I even make the coffee.
Make our time here forbidden,
make each touch count.
Don't even bother telling me your name.

Look at me lying prone
like it actually might mean something.
Hold me with the force
given to that pull down below.
Let our quick and final gasps
say the things best left in the bottom of the shot glass.

We wake up
as the afternoon begins,
and find our costumes scattered
around the unmade bed.
You bring me apologetic instant tea,
and I call the cab home.





-Brian E. Bengtson

Oh my dear Lord, another new poem!

A friend recently asked me why I had not "posted anything new" in a while, and I felt very guilty. Here is a poem about the weird Spring we have had here in Omaha.

Yes, it is short, but still, it is new

Enjoy!

APRIL, 2005

Spring is crawling,
staggering,
and stumbling
towards the city
this morning;

sleep comes easy
when windchills
playfully slap
around the edges
of your skin

and the day
is almost done
before you see
the new life
standing firm
in the still earth.





Brian E. Bengtson

One of my first. . .

This poem was one of the first I had ever written after my diagnosis, and only recently found when I was "digging around" in some old files. Even though so much of my life has changed, much of the feeling remains true.

RAINCOATS


People tell me
of the anger they would have
if they were sick.

They must think anger
is a brand-new raincoat
you button up tight

on a cloudy morning.
I don't need one;
sometimes I like the cold.

I cannot wear my anger now.
I need to practice standing
out in better weather.