With a dent in his head

He calls his wife to my side 
with a Bloody Mary shoves 

his celery in her waist band 
her midnight tan orders 

a chorus line of kisses 
for my whiskered cheek 

her brunette lips his sculpted hair
like a peacock like coal
 
after transforming into sulfur 
and multiplying.

His message plan can’t wait 
on the summer sun as if 

he never had an orgasm 
in public never cut her blouse 

buttons on my teeth never 
proved his disability 

beyond the shadow of 
this company town.

Nathaniel Vincent Mohatt | Mudlark No. 42 (2011)
Contents | Photos of Jesus