just a pose. A Love Supreme thrum-thrumming
from my speakers, mineral water by
my mouse. Sure, snap a shot. We’ll chat. Or text.
It’s hefty sex. Or safety hex. I’m more
hex-nut than sex-nut. Well, at least these days.
The nights are fueling stations. Love, we lie
like tankers in the locks. Or Catholics on
the rack. That burning’s what we have at stake.
The greens? Wicks yellowing. My dirty blond?
Spent tungsten. Small rebellion squelched.
With roguery along the fringes, in
the margins where I walk the stream, my feet
all wet, ears pricked for any aching sound.
Thomas Zimmerman teaches English, directs the Writing Center, and edits The Big Windows Review at Washtenaw Community College, in Ann Arbor, Michigan. His poems have appeared recently in Blood & Bourbon, Brickplight, and Visceral Uterus. Tom’s website: https://thomaszimmerman.wordpress.com/