Poetry‎ > ‎Montana Poems‎ > ‎


Bozeman, 1980

The ground trembles below my feet
Yet this is not the subduction zone

I find an empty toilet stall with cave paintings
Tiles for obscenity, consequence, and tic-tac-toe

The rickshaw of anonymity turns molten

A teenaged boy preens in the mirror
I smell rubbing alcohol and hexachlorophene
He does isometrics and yoga

I sit with my pants draped on my shoes
On a tilt-a-whirl of indifference, a crack
Of light dissects this canted fresco

The boy has fastened a Frisbee to his netsuke
And has turned to the mirror to flex