On all fours, in Turkey
for Tom
His shoulders hung sickly from the sockets,
his wrists like cogs
turned me over click-tock slow.
I sunk back,
concentrated on my colon cramming solids,
the apple soaps, thick as bricks in the cloth bag.
My eyes were mortar,
I knew he could see the spaces
between my vertebrae filling with steam.
I sprung onto my knees
and skeeked out
carefully, carefully please..
