from Cul-de-sac Pastoral
Weekend Open House Sext
This joy, it swallows itself far too soon
inside bright balloons, inside banquet tents
inside condiments, inside domestic
beer bottles, inside whoop-laugh merriment
inside plastic champagne flutes raised skyward
for the neighbor’s teen daughter, for he tents
his head, stakes it to the ground, every time
I wave. Help me— For his princess, he tents
her head when I’m inside my SUV
Kangol angled dangerous, so cleanly
cocked. For that, I should show the grad a mouth
of pearly. Merci, Neighbor. For your clean
cul-de-sac-arched mouth clamped, you Clampett.
(—)That. I should surely introduce myself.
111 The Paris-American
Marcus Wicker is the author of Maybe the Saddest Thing (Harper Perennial), selected by DA Powell for the National Poetry Series. He holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Indiana University. Wicker¹s awards include a 2011 Ruth Lilly Fellowship, Pushcart Prize, and Fine Arts Work Center Fellowship. His poems have appeared in Poetry, American Poetry Review, Third Coast, and Ninth Letter, among other magazines. Marcus is assistant professor of English at University of Southern Indiana and poetry editor of Southern Indiana Review.
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