This ad from the butcher
offers lottery tickets
with every, yes
every
$40 meat pack.
I am hungry for
1 kg of pork chops
with layers of my mother’s apple sauce
and mashed potatoes
and, hmmm, maybe some
July Brussels sprouts
followed by plates and plates of vanilla ice-cream
so when I sit down in front
of the television
one Saturday, my legs
and arms and head and all
hurting
at least my stomach
will be filled
when those balls
come rolling on down.

She was bleeding
all over. Me
I lay quiet
listening to the blood
she bled the tears
and whatever else there was.
I remember now.
She said I
bleed because of you
yes, you don’t
bleed
at all
you don’t
love care think
bleed
you fuck
me
she said
cried and I bleed.
It was summer.
And hot and her
head was beautiful
in the light her body
if only she
wouldn’t cry or speak
or bleed I would.
Be the happiest
man. I came long ago
and was ready.

One night
she shook all the
apples
off my apple tree.
Then she went straight
from my house
to a flop house
to the bug house.
She should’ve let
my apples be.