Dave Newman

 

Foaming Handsoap and Chicken Nuggets

I’d rather cry in my car than face
the 18 women in line outside
the Bed, Bath, and Beyond.

Everyone deserves foaming hand soap
and a lot of us like sales but the crowd
is now 22, still all women, and the store

won’t open for another 20 minutes
and the line at Chick fil A
across the Miracle Mile parking lot

is as long as a train loaded
with bankers leaving Western
Pennsylvania for New York City.

I once wrote an op-ed
for the Pittsburgh Post Gazette
op-ed’ing that I was against

Chick Fil A donating money
to religious groups who oppose
gay marriage but that, ultimately

I still ate their chicken
because it’s delicious and
inexpensive and my kids love it

and I’m often too tired to cook
and if I quit purchasing products
from companies I disagreed with

I’d have to quit shopping completely
and would eventually end up
naked in the streets, not wearing

a watch or taking phone calls
or able to climb in a car
or flag down a taxicab.

All day gay people who ate
at chick Fil A messaged me
to say thanks for being honest

and other gay people, ones
who didn’t eat at Chick Fila
messaged to call me a bigot

and other people, all straight
wanted me to apologize
for being a nugget-eating loser

and other people, also straight
messaged to explain I was going
to hell for supporting gay marriage.

I like clean hands but really
when it comes to foaming soap
it’s all about the variety of scents.

I wish my hands always smelled
like vanilla, except in the fall
when I like them to smell like pumpkin.

One of the women in line
is eventually going to punch
another women in the mouth

and two cops, neither women
will show up with lights flashing
and the crowd will disperse

and I’ll make a move
from my car to the store
and buy 6 bottles of hand soap

to get 2 bottles for free.
These sales make for bad math
and the cashier thinks

I should buy 3 more bottles
to get an additional one for free
but I’m already eyeing the candles

which are on sale at prices
I can’t comprehend and besides
I’m hungry for chicken nuggets

which I can’t afford
which makes me think I should eat
my delicious smelling hands.  

 

The Best At Church

I was the best at church, showing up late
and hungover, too exhausted to believe

but still believing in a non-believing way.
I mostly prayed for money and to get laid. 

Once my mom slapped the back of my head
as we walked the gravel parking lot to sanctuary.

I said once but I meant many. We save
the ones we love with small lies.

Women’s coats lined the racks in the lobby
like dead animals waiting to be useful.

My mom chatted with her friends, happily.
A girl kissed me once in the church nursey.

We were supposed to be watching babies
but none of the young mothers dropped off their kids.

The girl was 17 when I was 13
and the next time we were alone

in the nursery, she licked my face then reached
down and undid the button on my church pants.

White clouds and yellow light and angels
filled the framed paintings on the walls.

Jesus looked like a hippie who’d lost
his guitar but not his virginity.

The chick who was 17 took me
in her mouth and my body felt like a volcano.

I hoped she wanted to fuck me
the miracle of that happening in a nursey

but I didn’t know if I could last
as her head moved faster on my cock.

I looked at the Jesus painting
and hoped not to come.

I looked at the Jesus painting
and prayed not to come.

I looked at Jesus and imagined
a carpenter doubling in miracles.

I thought of how lucky I was to be getting
blown and how Jesus never did.   

 

 

Dave Newman, a recent Pushcart winner for fiction, is the author 10 books, including Better than the Best American Poetry (Roadside Press, 2025). His novel, Dope and Vodka and Cigarettes, and Not Shaving Her Legs is forthcoming in 2026.