The Poet Spiel

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Touching Off

You might not
recognize me.
I hang around
the Wal-Mart parking lot.
I’ve watched you there
on Wednesdays.

I shadowed you in,
stuck to your heels,
brushed against
your sleeve
as you paused
at the fancy
leopard skin panties
that I knew you
would not buy.

There is a certain
vulnerable quirk
in your gait
that makes you
available to me.
It’s your thick ankles.

I stink of tobacco.
Now do you recall
my presence
as I bumped
your basket
then said Sorry
from behind
your left ear
as I came
too close to your
bushy pony tail.

I wondered
why you buy
so much lotion,
so many tins
of aspirin.

I was so glad
the check-out
was really slow
so I could
the mansweat
of your broad neck
and bump
your firm fanny
til I got off.

Will you be
back again
next wednesday
at ten?

I want to sit
on the hot hood
of your big truck.


previously published in: Main Street Rag, Laboring Poets, barely breathing


There has been no influence under the politics of NEA and not a hint of the heavy hand of an MFA in the art and writing of personal conflict and social consciousness by The Poet Spiel aka Tom Taylor aka Thoss W Taylor. Frequently focused on the confinement of being human, this diverse artist/writer creates visual and verbal imagery which has been exhibited in more than 200 solo and group exhibitions, coast to coast and in Africa. His work has been licensed and published internationally. His most recent book is REVEALING SELF in Pictures and Words, available on Amazon.