Beau Boudreaux
Adriana
Farmed crawfish, a confederacy of cocktail
happy that we’re not married
anymore—exit Raphael
banners fall in streams
from our balcony—I’ve woken
taut in all certainty
the long pace down the plank
I sense the movement on the street
silence unfolds our guarded pavilion
her knife catches the light—
the beaded balustrade, sequence of sequins
maybe she’s a pro
throwing tennis balls through banisters.
There’s a word…
not Celine, Celeste…élan
her suggestion
the way without words.
Elysian Field
I falter
mal petit
she there holding
her stare
rapt
oh Lord
consider each eyelash
lake marked
by buoy
a gesture
speaks her hands
something nether worldly
pure fatigue encased
on the wing of another
Eye Candy
Some times we’re given
a gift, to open
or simply increase
the traps would not set
if nothing were caught—
your heady perfume, the lip print
on a cigarette in the ashtray
the way I lose myself
in conversation
merely looking is possession
permission—
founded on vanity,
seriously think about
the rights and feelings of you
rather than my own.
Telemachus to Odysseus
Dare listen and think
we change, cut above the brow
wind chimes ting window sills
and now there’s no settling
rather a select number
father, I count them in the sea
poached pompano in meuniere
their hair casually bunned
glossy-lipped, wisped – I don’t watch
them drive away, lovers
really wouldn’t be out these hours
slowly I cut the light
leaving the fan rotating
slowly, taking my time –
Sorrento
We follow weary
back to camp
fingers frozen
bags of dead birds—
ducks
the only casualty
long in the tooth
hair on the knuckles
talking about the hunt
how surprised to pick
one out of the sky
have it splash the marsh
and you are there
calling them in like
virgins
our shotguns like canons
frighten me
but we want birds
mallard, goose, pin tail
too easy
floating aimless
on the water.
-all poems previously published at Zink Ville
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