Poem of the Week

What I Like

Friend-- the face I wallow toward
through a scrimmage of shut faces.
Arms like towropes to haul me home, aide-
memoire, my lost childhood docks, a bottled ark
in harbor. Friend-- I can't forget
how even the word contains an end.
We circle each other in scared bolero,
imagining stratagems: postures and imposters.
Cold convictions keep us solo. I ahem
and hedge my affections. Who'll blow the first kiss,
land it like the lifeforces we feel
tickling at each wrist? It should be easy
easy to take your hand, whisper down this distance
labeled hers or his: what I like about you is

-Alice Fulton

Comments

[asher paine]

I generally like your posts for P.O.W. This one is especially nice.

Thanks

[belgium]

Belgium doesn't get it, this "What I Like" business. Who
shuts their faces? Are you trying to tell me that I'm
an imposter? If so, you ought to watch your manners,
especially if you want to call me a "friend."

And what's an "end" ? Is that a comment about my butt,
which I've been told is rather attractive. People may
not have said that to me, at least to my face, but I
can tell it by how they look at me, again and again,
shaking their heads. Man, they say to themselves,
Belgium's got one fine butt. Or ass. Sometimes they
call me an ass.