vii
by Matthew Buxton
there was never a command-
ment that i didn’t break. but
there is only one that i
regret. smells like it did when
i was sixteen–tongues and cum
that linger on my wrinkled
sweatshirt beside some lead head.
how ironic that she was
bathing when david craved her–
fucked her when uriah went
to war. now i sit in dead
silence in the aftermath
of this storm, and remember
that bathsheba ruled the world.
i got so used to doing
exactly what they told me
not to–in the back of a
rusty-rimmed red pickup truck–
that now i use it as an
excuse when i’m mad that he
doesn’t touch me anymore.
bullshit that you think i can
just ask Him to forgive me:
though your sins be as scarlet,
aren’t i right? this is a
bloodstained letter i can’t just
rinse cycle and pray that it
washes out white. forgive me
father, for i knew what i
was doing, and i still put
the car in drive. had twenty
long minutes to turn around,
but i waited till it said
arrived. and for what? nine min-
utes of bad dick in my life?
there’s something so delicious
about something too sinful
to eat, or maybe i’m just
afraid to get too close to
anything that might be good
for me because i have lived
so damn long invisibly.
surely i’ll be put to death,
that is what the law decrees.
both of them shall die–the man
who lay with the woman, and
the woman–but this time she’s
a he. i’m sorry that i
fucked him while you were sleeping.