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Blue
Collar
by
Alyse
Bensel
I
have been
reading the history of my problems
with men for
as long as
I have been living it
December
haul and snow wear your hands
already pricked with scars and
tattoos,
skin cracked and hardened by cold air.
I am
parked in front of your apartment,
while old men in plastic
chairs lean forward,
leering, while I walk up to your stoop,
knock with the side of my uncovered fist, exposed
to
winter. And when I am inside the warmth
of your arms, marked
as your hands,
in the only place you keep immaculate,
the
floor littered in empty soda cans, paper,
I stay awake,
feeling your chest expand
against my own, waiting for the 5am
alarm
that sends us both away shivering.
Line
from Alison Hawthorne Deming “Making Love to You When
You’re Far Away,” Genius
Loci
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