he’s snapped awake and he’s drowning.
the boy left behind, a vulgar warmth
gathered around his sex, an unwelcome
wetness he prays is urine.
what would happen if instead of growing
cold the lake he made – burned? if the lake
became a river he could cross out
of humiliation into eternity.
the new burden of his comforter, cement
hardening into the statue of a winged child
between his legs, his shame born less out
of hunger than his body’s refusal to be trained.
he brings one finger to his lips and tastes
gasoline. he cleans himself in the dark.
sam sax is a fellow at The Michener Center for Writers & the associate poetry editor for Bat City Review. He’s the two time Bay Area Grand Slam Champion & author of the chapbooks, A Guide to Undressing Your Monsters (Button Poetry), and sad boy / detective (2014 Black River Chapbook Prize). His poems have been published or are forthcoming from Boston Review, The Minnesota Review, The Normal School, Rattle, & other journals.
