TWO POEMS

Unreported Incidents

Ray spit in my hand. Motor oilleafed on still water and he spoke over mesaying I waver when I issue commands.He kicked the drowned cat to shower mewith its pocket of brown lake.Said I wasn’t worth the fuss I madeshowing the boys their loneliness in the countrywhere trucks sink to boneunder the blue sound of electricity.Ray invented the game chop stickwith two branches he tosseda rattler at the back of my legs.Eventually he decided it wasn’t his job to help me.A circle of drunk men, burningillegally. Their faces sockets of cracked light.He laughed, go on. Tell themto call it a night. My hands were behindmy back when I asked, could you please.I turned to Ray. He smiled, reversed awayas one man crushed a cananother draped his wet arm over me.