BACK
CHIVALRY
gregory heaney
My throat, raw and ragged and ruined, a victim of back alley alchemy,
the process by which yelling turns bourbon into sandpaper, the process
by which strangers make teeth taste like pennies, like unwanted change
delivered on the terrible edges of generous fists provoked by my tongue
trying to defend yours in good faith that my mouth, with lips that taste
like carmex in an ashtray, like sugar and carbon and forest fires, ruined
by carelessness and cold, would get to hang out with yours, and at least
get to crash on your couch.
(C) 2008 by Gregory Heaney