//be careful with hispanic women in bars//
i had tension
on a handful
of jet-black hair
while drilling her twat from behind
on a futon
when some tattooed skeleton
with a pistol
stormed the room.
he put it
against my temple
and swore at miriam
in spanish.
she swore back
in spanish -
grabbed an iron
off the floor
and put it
to his skull.
you killed him,
i said.
it's just eduardo,
she said
and bent down
and put her ear
next to his mouth.
he's drunk,
she said.
he'll wake up
and not remember this.
i slung eduardo
over my shoulder
and put him
in the passenger seat
of his pickup.
then i
followed miriam
in her car.
we pulled
behind a
pawn shop.
he works here,
she said
and we laid him out
in the truck bed.
are there
other eduardos?
i asked.
not in iowa,
she said
and grabbed my cock
and did something
to my asshole
with her tongue
that made me
understand eduardo
implicitly.
//what'd you learn in college?//
one of my young
gangbanger parolees
asked.
two types
go to college,
i told him.
those with minds for it
learn to build bridges
or bombs.
rest of us
just come out
more confused
and pretentious
than before.
we usually settle
middle-class-hell,
take up genealogy
photography
or try to become
poets.
you write poems?
he asked.
nah, not really
my thing.
i write poetry,
he said.
oh yea?
yea.
wanna hear one?
no offense,
that kind of stuff
is wasted
on me.
i had tension
on a handful
of jet-black hair
while drilling her twat from behind
on a futon
when some tattooed skeleton
with a pistol
stormed the room.
he put it
against my temple
and swore at miriam
in spanish.
she swore back
in spanish -
grabbed an iron
off the floor
and put it
to his skull.
you killed him,
i said.
it's just eduardo,
she said
and bent down
and put her ear
next to his mouth.
he's drunk,
she said.
he'll wake up
and not remember this.
i slung eduardo
over my shoulder
and put him
in the passenger seat
of his pickup.
then i
followed miriam
in her car.
we pulled
behind a
pawn shop.
he works here,
she said
and we laid him out
in the truck bed.
are there
other eduardos?
i asked.
not in iowa,
she said
and grabbed my cock
and did something
to my asshole
with her tongue
that made me
understand eduardo
implicitly.
//what'd you learn in college?//
one of my young
gangbanger parolees
asked.
two types
go to college,
i told him.
those with minds for it
learn to build bridges
or bombs.
rest of us
just come out
more confused
and pretentious
than before.
we usually settle
middle-class-hell,
take up genealogy
photography
or try to become
poets.
you write poems?
he asked.
nah, not really
my thing.
i write poetry,
he said.
oh yea?
yea.
wanna hear one?
no offense,
that kind of stuff
is wasted
on me.
Justin Hyde lives in Iowa where he works with criminals. He has a web-page here: http://www.nyqpoets.net/poet/justinhyde.
