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By Gary Jackson
You’re staring, jaw-dropped at my tail. And yes,
it’s a good twenty inches long and moves
like a serpent in heat. Touch it. I’m no devil, honey,
I don’t got no souls, just the smoothest, bluest fur
you’ve ever seen. Don’t mind my buddy here, he looks angry
all the time, and he’s got eyes for the bottle of Jameson
and the short-haired blonde playing pool near the gorillas.
What do we do? Over a few drinks I could tell you about the the time
we traveled to the blue side of the moon or when we fought
the Juggernaut right here in this bar. Yeah, the fangs are real.
Rub your finger over them, touch the deviled tongue.
Caress my fur with your skin, let me keep your body warm
in the dark. It’s your night, honey. Show me a woman not afraid
of a mutant man. Let me mix into your bloodline.
Gary Jackson was born and raised in Topeka, Kan. He received his MFA from the University of New Mexico. His book, “Missing You, Metropolis” (2009, Graywolf Press) won the Cave Canem Poetry Prize.
The video above was filmed at AWP’s 2011 Conference & Bookfair in Washington, D.C. Special thanks to the Association of Writers & Writing Programs.
Camera and audio work by the NewsHour’s Crispin Lopez and Kiran Moodley.
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