Jack Henry

passion 

a bed lay in tatters 
from a night well spent. 
two lovers coil 
together 

the room remains hot, 
a/c cannot keep up. 
rain beats relentlessly 
against motel walls 

i light a cigarette, 
take a long drag, 
blow smoke through 
a cracked window 

a gray fat horizon fills my eyes,  
storm clouds thrash in anger. 
thunder sounds, but lightning  
never comes 

progress 

i always 
answer his call 
his text 
his time 
limited 
but he wants me 
needs me 

sometimes i sneak 
in his backdoor 
creep past  
family pictures 
on a wall 

sometimes i answer 
his knock 
on a seedy motel door 
wearing a jock strap 
and a smile 

sometimes we sit 
and talk at a restaurant 
over lunch 
about the future 
about things that will never occur 

the last time 
i met him 
at our motel 
on the edge  
of the town one over 
far from our own 
he tells me 
i love you 
and i wonder 
if those three words 
are the same lie 
i’ve heard before 

send pics 

i contort my body into strange positions 
take pictures with my cellphone  
ass, cock and balls. 

i am too old for the game  
but there are those 
in the queer crowd that request 
proof before letting games begin. 

and i really don’t have anything better to do  
on a Friday afternoon. 

fucking  

there’s not a lot of planning 
forethought 
putting things together 

pants to ankles 
bent just enough 
press it in 

fucking 

his weight pressing 
onto me 
hot breathe on my neck 
nothing spoken
grunts and moans 

pace quickens 
he’s close now 
i think of winter 
holiday gift giving 
a long vacation to Jamaica 
or France 

fucking 

he tenses 
freeze 
stabs deep 
releases his poison 

he zips up 
mutters something 
i pull myself together 
he says, 
thanks 
and 
see ya later 

i sit in the corner 
watch crows peck at dead cowboys 
i lick powder from a mirror 
load one last round  
into a gun