Gary Sloboda

G a r y   S l o b o d a

The Man On The Left In Hopper’s People In The Sun

Like a deer poached by rednecks

where the corn lies down

there are stains on my chest

                        —look, stains

identical to this hand

the mother trees shook to bloom.

September Becomes

Down washed-out corridors

in a flurry of curses

you will not go down in

you become beautiful           old

men gnawing cigars                lit

in the rain of fingertips

of expiring blooms.

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