Something crippled something stepped on with a boot to the back I’m talking about the soft spot between my shoulder blades something like blood or the hands in each other’s jacket on fire something like gasoline a clump of feathers in the street or us fighting in a Walgreens parking lot something like a fracture a reek of hospital and this impulse to disassociate until it’s the right time with the wrong man inside you something at night or just south of where we dig holes for the dead I’m talking about each other do you remember I’m talking about the boot and the razor burn or before it mattered who bled first a sexual headlock and an overpass we throw ourselves off of something you bought me something unhealthy an itch in the most conspicuous spot like those panties you said make me look so sexy something like being your best kind of boy like water stains my body in steam the bathroom door and fog glass basic cable thick smoke at the cracks wet countertops no carpet and the wrong knife at night do you see me singing something the phone music playing at the door the dog barking do you see it???????
Andrew Ketcham is a faggot living in Chicago. He left his heart in New Orleans and doesn’t know what to make of that. His work has appeared in Assaracus, the New Orleans Review, ReVisions and LiT.
A Song for Andrew