Poem of the Month


by Gae Rusk
I met a man this a.m. who
made me gag
not that he smelled bad nor had
offensive knobs
he was clean
my trachea convulsed on the odd thought
of being him
of living him
of wearing his sloshing nights with
clammy mornings after
his life a clumsy chaos
where nothing works out
making failure the odor
poring from his pores
I sat on that airport shuttle
digging for mints for gum
for incense for Tums
for salt to slake
my reflex to gag
he was that sad
that man
giving me
a.m. sickness
me being
you see
so pregnant with me


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