BOY TAIL, excerpt, pt. 7

From BOY TAIL, (short fiction)

7.

            Cat’s tongue is coarse,

            Wet-dry.

Boy, the curiosity,

and the anxiety,

of a diabetic cat.

Boy runs fingers

across gender,

sand shark grey,

because gender unknown,

because sharks.

Boy had no aptitude for biology.

He knew multitudes of show tunes.

Headz2tailz,

a boy band of sand sharks,

bake in the haze

of the dying sun.

At the Captured Sand Shark Please Touch Museum:

Electrical thrills through Boy flesh,

fireworks spreading through space folliculitis.

Boy desperately wishes for arm hair,

the thicket most desirable in circles of boys.

Bumps rise on skin send head back priest-throat hands on neck Boy experiences Helios retina spells witchcraft sending Boy at now and present to then and there and then to locker room flood lamps swaying above shin-high benches and the balls cage, the cage he’s in, wolves and spiders and bears.

Mr. Pennypacker: “Boy, you must shower.”

            Boy: (sneaks out)

This is a scene made for a light dance

On the track field,

Boy practices lessons,

learned of great illusionists,

by disappearing like vapor,

under bleachers.

Twirling spaghetti grass,

between finger and thumb,

Boy squints, contorts eyes

towards other boy’s legs.

Winged Mercury,

bodies carried on carbon,

around and around,

the dirty brown loop.

On the track field,

candy and peach schnapps legs,

intoxicate athleticism.

Boy pierces with a stare,

asses of pre-soldiering Romans,

butt bubbling under Op’s,  

of arrows and Saint Sebastian.

Hair lip French fries,

(human fryolator),

boys’ hair cooks by sun,

expels scents of boy body.

Boy commands his own

legs sprout moss,

fresh carpet.

It was not yet that boy may realize a future in which the slapping of his legs forcefully with own hands may be turned transactional potential for daddies who lick lips; an obsession of crisp pain.

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Thanks for reading- xoxo, J

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