from a year ago

barbed wire fence
and my pregnant friend
sleep in the room next door,
“It’s for the jaguars” she says,
I am sleeping on the floor.
your bad back grants you the bed.
old blankets and dog-smell
hold my company.

it’s three am and we spent the day
tracking monkeys for annie with
her big belly,
sweat dripping off her face,
we feel summer in our blister-feet,
then swim through buzz-fly creaks and
watch water fall
thousands
of feet
deep.

for dinner
I eat steak
under milk stars and moon
I meet mosquito,
a man studying
yellow fever,
i ride his motorcycle down the dirt
road out front, arms out,
wind in curls,
I grab his back
and pray I don’t fall.

at night-time,
you sit next to me
on the floor.
we miss our dead friend together,
listen to tall trees
and thunder pass through.
you and your boxers
me and my dress from brasil -
I cover myself
with blankets,
we watch the bugs and chickens
outside.

we are far from home, but
together
something more.


for dan

I bet he died in drag,
nipples pierced
tongue wagging out of his
thin lips,
a pout on his big bellied
body,
clogged holes
in his chest-
he called 9 – 1 – 1
they didn’t respond
who do you call
when
your heart is caving into
your insides
your sister doesn’t care if you’re dead
alive
who do you call?

I found out
sipping Turkish
mint tea,
sitting across his office
I had the floor and the day
to myself
to miss him
and his boring stories.
I dreamt
he paraded down the hall,
swiveling well-nourished hips
yelling
"opa, isn’t this a good
joke?" with his
diet cherry soda
waiting for him
in the fridge.