Prelude
       

what kind of
boy
if just two neckties,

what kind of ship,
default
and markless.

my body yearns
for animal
and I wake
on dampened sheets—
what kind of
bed
if tampered
pronouns,

what kind of
cockcrow dawn

is this new me

warbled
from your frets
and bow.

mother,
I have chosen
the name
you once chose.

and when I arrive
fashionably late,

when Odysseus
crawls
between my olive tree limbs,
his guile hanging lower
than his brawn,

what kind of
knot

with two small hands—

what kind of
boy.

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Copyright © 2012 Oliver Bendorf All rights reserved
from The Journal
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission