Craig Cotter


I love a millionaire twink


dresses like a Midwestern high school student
that's poor and has style.
He sends a car for me
so I can read Proust on the way over.

He's got a new movie out
gotta meet him in 15 to see it together.
I have him sit a row in front of me
so I can stare at his perfect long hair,
teen hormone oil holding 30 to 40 pieces together in soft waves.
Put my nose in the middle of it
and inhale and off to a good start.

He said, "Think we'll be together in 3 years?"
"Probably not."
"What if I string you along with a lot of money?"
"That'd probably improve our chances."
"What if I get fat?"
"You won't."

His bare feet are in my lap on the couch as we watch "House."
He says, "Fuck me with my spit,"
he gives me a sloppy blow-job
I put 4 fingers in his mouth to get more lube,
rub his hole with it,
put his legs on my shoulders,
drive him into the leather cushions.

"You don't care if I love you do you?" he asks.
"No," I say covered with sweat looking down at him.
I smile.
This boy has got a good thing going
but a more complete love
is not possible for me.



ON O’HARA’S BIRTHDAY


Dear Frank,

You’re locked in your Afterlife with no way to send me anything.

You have life on your side, I have mine here.

I hope when I make the change
there are only two sides.

With my luck we each get stranded in our own Afterlife with no one else there.

               —3/27/12



Inland Empire


If the ocean
had not drawn you

you’d be next to me
in this mostly empty auditorium

UC Riverside’s
Writers’ Week

listening to the new poets.

*

We walk out.
Cruise hot undergrads.
Guess top or bottom.

*

Thai?
Sure.

*

Waves so loud
taxi silent.

Moonlight and clouds
like Northern Lights with Alex.

You didn’t turn to look.

*

You shouldn’t be fat.
You shouldn’t smoke.

We leave campus
walk on University Drive
pleased with our vices.

Alex still doesn’t respond to your letters?
Si.
How long are you going to keep trying?
While we’re both still alive.

You ever feel it’s pathetic?
Of course.



Dear Davin


A twink’s
upper arms

shouldn’t be thicker
than a Coke can.




Craig Cotter was born in 1960 in New York and has lived in California since 1986. His poems have appeared in Caliban Online, California Quarterly, Chiron Review, Columbia Poetry Review, Court Green, Free State Review, Great Lakes Review, Hawai'i Review, Ottawa Arts Review, Poetry New Zealand & Tampa Review. His fourth book of poems, After Lunch with Frank O'Hara, is currently available from Chelsea Station Editions. In 2011 his manuscript After Lunch was a finalist for the National Poetry Series. In 2019 his new manuscript, ALEX, was a finalist for the Tampa Review Prize.
www.craigcotter.com
 
 
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