Maybe the man has to gut a fish. Maybe
that’s why he’s got a knife. If he likes
the heft of it in his hand, what’s that matter?
I mean, he’s got to eat.
Gilbert’s guy was talking to God as he gutted,
as he fried onions in hot olive oil,
tossed in peppers.
As a bird flew between him and the sun.
God being all buddy-buddy.
Gilbert petulant, a little bit
Well, the big guy’s never
spoken to me. His kid showed up
once in the backyard at a crab boil
with Lineberger, but that was
a long time ago.
I’ve been drinking a gin infused
with cucumber and rose. A woman’s
drink if ever I’ve tasted one.
I crave a cigar.
The other thing is I’ll fight you
My trainer says I got no
defense but I won’t
Eventually you’ll get wore down
from punching my melon and then
we’ll see what’s what.
Inside of my body I carry
all the bodies of the awful
dead whose faces I can’t
That’s a lie.
That’s a goddamn lie.