rad poetry #24: for amanda sabo

RAD POETRY THANKS JEREMY BAUER FOR HIS GENEROUS DONATION. FYI: THE MUG'S NAME IS LUCY BUT HE IS STILL A MAN.




IF I SAID YOU HAD A BEAUTIFUL BODY WOULD YOU HOLD ON

for Amanda Sabo

A man, duh, will do the things of love he
learned from his favorite songs. Often, this
involves him spilling a bag of red lentils or
losing your cat, then turning to lines like God
is a place you will wait for the rest of your life
for advice. Forgive him. At thirteen he wore
pooka shells. From this it takes decades to
recover. Other times he will sew a tambourine
skin with your face on it from the pages of your
favorite children's book, which he found your
copy of. You guessed it: forgiveness. On planes,
he won't even put his phone in flight mode
in case you call, even though your father's a
pilot and you've explained over and over how
precariously information contains itself in the
air. Let's say I do this, you say, kissing a tissue,
ripping it up, tossing the shreds his way as he
ducks. You sigh. He takes your guitar into the
bathroom and closes the door. Yeah, but listen
to this, he calls. He is in there playing. He's in
there and you can hear him but he's not
staring at the mirror, I swear. He's between
the song and you, with only a little ways to go.