- Wedding vows, and: In this case, “you” is you, and: Mirror mirror
As much as I’d like to makean intellectual case for monogamy, I can’tclaim more than it suits me to hold handswith one woman at a time, this keepsone hand free to wave at fog or playthe piano as we walk, we have a pianoinstead of a dog, and all that stuffI need to tell one woman, to tell twowould be boring and twice as embarrassingas life, there’s also the dilution of joy,for to cheat on saving the possum babyby also saving the possum babywith another woman, would ruinour new family, the one of uswith full-moon areolas and the onewith wrinkly cock and the onewho lives in a box, but reallythe difficulty of being fusedto more than one womanis spatial as much as romantic, wherewould three heads join, seriouslyin a bed that slumps alreadyso much in the middle, we sleepin a valley and fuck in a valleyand that’s it for the valley,everything else we do togethertakes place on even, on solid ground [End Page 340]
In this case, “you” is you
Every day she doesn’t die, I’m led to believethis will always be the case, like the sunpretends to be eternal by not being mortalin my eyes. My thoughts often soundlike complaints when I mean themas observations, including this last one.The fan was just shut off below me;she’s on her way up to kiss me good-bye.You have to leave now, unlessyou’re a voyeur. Even if you are,I don’t want to see you that way.I see you helping an old manacross the road. I see you liftinga car off a child. I see herliving forever. It’s not like I’m buildinga building here. This whole thingcan be wrong and fall down and what’sthe harm—a bad poem. Most of them are.I’d still get the kiss. And I still hatewhere this is going. [End Page 341]
Bald, sag-assed& slouch-gutted, bald& nearly enough hairon my shouldersto comb, bald& temperamentallyerect, the uncertaintyprinciple alivein my cock,she looks at methe sameas she’s looked at mesince the first timeshe looked at meon Turner Street,I believe, the secretsto old age: loveand destructionof every photoof yourselfwhen you were young [End Page 342]
bob hicok’s most recent book, Elegy Owed, was a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award.