Sunday, September 27, 2009

D. A. Powell

couplets unheroic

he had a girlfriend on the side. he had a boyfriend on the side
he had too many sides: back- front- and be-, the problem was: he’d hide

and in my mind, the darkest runnings: don’t think I didn’t suspect
the mysterious calls from portland. the hickey upon his pec

the cum towel he never laundered had become crusty and shrunk
he drank to function but didn’t function: instead he was a drunk

I pity the woman who marries this straight boy who likes to cheat
who’s a bomb in the sack for anyone—unless it’s not his mate

still, I pray he is safe, and not always dreaming of my casket
like a crappy hired mourner, carrying his own little wilting basket

for Donald Haines Eason, the last

D. A. Powell is the author of four books of poetry, most recently Chronic (Graywolf, 2009). He is co-author, with David Trinidad, of By Myself: An Autobiography (Turtle Point Press, 2009). Powell has published recent poems in New England Review, Barrow Street, Tin House and A Public Space. He teaches in the English Department at University of San Francisco.