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VISITING THE MODERN ART MUSEUM by David Gibbs

April 1, 2009 Contributed By: David Gibbs

If I exchange 8 dollars for a ticket
the man with a slim mustache
will let me see big screen tits
and curlicue pubic hair above
a nudist colonist’s penis.

How
subtle our snickers when what we want
is behind glass, is the same
as how we pet a cat at 3 a.m.,
drunk, on a stranger’s couch.
At first, we’re playful and trading
High School dance moves. One
ratchets the sprinkler, the other drops
soup cans into the shopping cart.
Then muscles contract, relaxing
to the fingers’ elastic petting.

Guards watch for fingers close
to screens and projectors. Feel
with eyes, one says to a woman
I’m standing next to. She giggles
so I giggle. Then, I say
They dress in black
in case a funeral reception
has good food. Someone shushes us.
She taps my knuckle
and says, It’s the only place
one can really taste the flavors.  

 

Return to table of contents for Issue 1 Spring 2009

Filed Under: Poetry Posted On: April 1, 2009

Further Reading

The Po’ele Box
by Kirby Wright

I SWEATED IT OUT on the floral-print couch between Troy and our mother. We were waiting for my old man to get home. My brother gnashed his gum. Jenny was visiting her friend Heidi Bathen and I was glad she was gone. I saw our reflection in the living room mirror—we had looks of impending […]

Nothing New in the West
by Clement Obropta

The Old West is an invention, as fake as a ride at Disneyland. It’s a desert filled with paradoxes.

It’s All Feel, My Dear by Glenn Brady

Return to table of contents for Issue 7 Summer 2013

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