Arm’s Length
Standing two feet in front of me, he told me he had made a reservation at the country club for the following day so he could talk to me. Any conversation was an interview I could only fail. Carefully nice and unflinchingly polite, he let me know exactly which eggshells to walk on. Each gaze said he was disappointed in me, every smile said he expected more. I had a hard time waiting
for him to die.
my husband says
you’re just like your father
Splinter
you would think I’d remember
some pain at the piercing
when and how you entered me
pressing deep into my flesh
you’d think I’d recall
where I picked you up
how I rubbed you wrong
what you were made of
perhaps you were sharp
perhaps you were shattered
what’s left is embedded
far beneath the surface
I wonder if I left
a splinter in you
and if you remember
where you got it
I wonder if it hurts
Mark Hendrickson is a gay poet and former psychiatric nurse living in the Des Moines area. A Pushcart and Best of the Net nominee, his work appears in McNeese Review, Vestal Review, Variant Lit, The Ekphrastic Review, and others. Follow him @MarkHPoetry or visit www.markhendricksonpoetry.com
