Working Boy

A beat-up Dodge creeps up the corner,
and you think of that guy who just wanted to talk,
and you can't believe he still paid.

You remember the guy who brought you home,
and showed you his Jeff Stryker
after he threw you in the harness.

You think you see the one that just handed you the money,
and pulled your head down in one fell swoop.
You watch the fist-fight two doors down,
and are too tired to guess who did what.

You count the pretty older boys
as they stumble out to the lot.

You slide to the bus depot vending machine,
buy a Baby Ruth with your emergency bus change,
and laugh about a man who gave you an oil massage
wearing rubber gloves and two condoms.

You list the ones that you wish hadn't seen you.
You have your 3 a.m. breakfast with your eyes half-closed.

T.S.

It's been nearly a decade since
I saw you sniff glue
in your downtown apt.

Nine years to the day
you gave me a bottle of poppers
and told me to
"cum like a madwoman."

Seven years have past,
we all got drunk on New Year's
and you shared me with your lover.

Five years ago,
I was doing you on the stairs
while he was at work.

Sometime last year
they tore down your house.

Yesterday I realized I couldn't remember your face.

Get Ready, Gang!

Sometime this coming Monday, I am going to post some of what I consider my "top ten" poems, as I am submitting said poetry for an upcoming book of works by Nebraska authors!

I am also (finally!!!) putting the finishing touches on my second book/manuscript! I am either going to call it POETRY ON THE HALF-SHELL, or EASTERN NEBRASKA SIMILES. . . .

Sorry that it has been so long. . .