contraband:

contraband:

it’s so blurred I don’t know I dropped

in that flat black tray at the caged-

in pane the grid glass the jack-

ass (whose latex-gloved thumbs

touched mine when I laid it all

down) a truck key maybe and he

grinned bastard licked his lips

and grinned and hung the ring

up in the air by his other thumb and said: this

pricked your balls didn’t it boy

and they tinked in the tray again

like nickels I do remember that

the dull plug enough snuffed

sound I used to drop ‘em again

just to make sure I had two

and that thumb fucker up so far

I can’t hide shit and it’s that

not the rest not the rest not his

loud mouth I legit get rigged he’s

up my ass and every time I tighten

my jaw he squeezes: keys he’ll say

thirty years he’ll say and I stay

bent my ankles rimmed red by my own

fists lookie lookie we got a packer

he says my first day in no way no way

I shake my head I back away no way

I dropped that in the gray

snow when I fumbled out of my folded

over ford just after I heard son, son are you

alright son?