5 (little loser)



Nobody loves me like my little loser.

She would lift me, love me were I less man

than the clenched fist and busted-up bruiser

and tearless deaf-mute Führer that I am.

She would love me if I let the luckless

in, let the little villain believe in

all the suicidal wreckers of his

rotten youth (and onetime glimpse of freedom).

Let the backhand swing and the frying pan

break the window and settle in the trash—

two stories thick with black bags and old cans—

that's there at the bottom of the airshaft.

My little loser doesn't ask for much:

just to love me until I self-destruct.

 


first published in the anthology Devouring the Green (Jaded Ibis, 2015)

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