Two Poems
Steven Fowler


such foul meat we ate then
but don't feel bad
you were very generous
& I remain grateful
such are the perils of eating flesh
& never have I before gone to bed so early
but for those days I'd buried my own
the smell of that boy's spit in my eyebrows
thick in my fingers wiping
comes back to me, how bucky
I sow grass-seed in this mud
this mud contaminated
that made the boy so backward
when I returned for him
with a hammer, youthful
to force the globuled hittingend into his head
I was a child, with a child's swing
revealing a last whisper of his burning earth
his mother beating him to wake
yet it was I who left him be, crackling
to get him later
in childhood


dirty foreign
cheekeater with a wine bottle
slipping a condom
over the neck
popping some cat noises
whispering in coarse
"this I see in your future"
& pronouncing the word