Tough-guy talk
       

She hugged my paper route.

I slept with her telescope full of stars.

She put my yo-yo on her wedding finger.

We rolled down a hill, one on top of one
on bottom on top of the grass & laugh
of the other.

When we stood up we were twenty-two.

We're the same—she likes and I like
girls & that we like girls
under the same moon
in two time zones with still
a tin-can-telephone string
between us.

I'm ready to be her best man
if you're ready to let two shes
get hitched in Lubbock,
dear Texas.

She smelled like a swing set.

I punched her once in the hair.

What do you care if two dykes
share a life, even underwear?

How cool is that—one thong
for all and all of us thronging
for one thing—love.

She sat beside my sitting
beside her chucking stones
on the curb at the other side
of the world, wanting to be old
and get our hands on the controls.

How cute is dumb we were, plumb wrong
in our hurry to get up and out
we were: I miss going to the river
and pretending it was land
that rolled away, miss everything
about our short days, but thats
the point of memory, isn't it—the lure
of pure?

Texas, I'm slipping my tux on
and coming.

By the time I get there, you better be
a real he—man and give everyone
the chance to be equal to every other
befuddled mother father sister brother—
that is, everyone officially afraid
of being alone, with a ring on
that doesn't ring to prove it.

Or else—so there, take that—
I'll cry.

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Copyright © 2018 Bob Hicok All rights reserved
from Hold
Copper Canyon Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission