maybe if I give old blue a nice piece of ham, he’ll shut the fuck up

a sketch book
search engine predilection
for robot boobs
is my cue.
take the boy out to Yosemite, dude
Kerrick Canyon
Peeler Lake
get him drunk
on the land
on hot chocolate
then begin
what I hope is an ongoing
series of love, fucking, love
of fucking, perils
of love, living
with dick,
liking
(really liking) your
mate, making
sure if he does
like-like mates,
like that,
it’s nothing,  impromptu.
just a first dip.

but what a film strip
framed by the fire
cut as
alternating horror
and fascination contort his face.

stripes and streams of
cold star cords,
galaxies and
city boy
eyes.
my fucking god, one
night up there--
Yellow went the sky.
for an unreasonably long time.
lit ten seconds.
seriously. maybe 5.
count to six.
For the whole sky to be lit like that?
headlines said Chinese Space Junk.
Bridgeport residents
spooked.
irritable. scrappy.

he pokes
agitates the fire
scans the ashes, puzzling under
nectarine
chunks of ember

pausing,
de-
riddle-ize-
ing
his mind of
the nagging suspicion:
it didn’t go so hot,
his very first time.

oh yeh. the title.
I give old
blue a biscuit
and ham;
he shut the fuck up
so I could write
this poem.