You Gotta Start Somewhere

He wakes in mediation alone in the house
lacquering the veins of impotent passion.

His nephew spends complicated Tuesday
mornings making ends meet with a wicked

game of dominos. His friends feel he’s raised
privacy to the level of art—he swears

they never quarrel. In the gaps between nickels
and dimes he sometimes finds his uncle—

a middle man on his best days—flush
with hot tips and prime meridians, asking

women he meets if they want to wake up
in the city or the country. The bone pile

just over the county line is where he’ll find
his nephew with greasy hands on a Wednesday

night. Now he only dates models who have
their own money. His wife wishes he’d take

himself more seriously.

R. D. Girard | Mudlark No. 21
Contents | And Then He Kissed Me