
My first crush was a statue:
strong and silent, noble
to a fault. Realer
than the dead general
he memorialized, for his triumph
was far less fleeting.
He kept his chin up
no matter what, weathering
every pigeon. His head
was like a moon, blotchy
with seas. As for me,
I didn’t want to be seen
with my head of a beast
like an ass-backwards sphynx.
Small dogs assaulted
the space I’d left
intentionally absurd,
uniformed like a unisex fireplug,
gruff as a gryphon. I huffed
glue till my syntax collapsed
and I came unglued.
A war blew in and they drafted
my soldier, melted him down
and cast him into shot.