Boys
BY BRADLEY TRUMPFHELLER
when I’m late there are dozens of you
looking up from the cut at the glass houses
fastened with money to the sunshade hills.
you’re singing like stephen malkmus
and you have to jump. one of you is griffin
in imogen’s car with an eclipse box. one of you
is david balancing a tower of rocks. it’s ten feet
from the dam to the creek that spools before
it reaches the potomac. and dozens of you is
a house party. two of whom are david
on the phone with me in the all-night
diner booth like a cat’s cradle when you
reach for more pepper. or the flashing pale
nudes of nick and colin I attach to that are
grass backlit and gettable. because I got you
and can’t have you. because one of you is me
and one of you is brandon. that day everybody
swam. often more of me is not my father
but I remember everything against the wall.
like when you steal my drink or put on
the hustle. I’m thinking of you each
in the long season of my blonde apartness.
some of you are beautiful. some of you are
missing pearls and that leather jacket I had on.
you had on water in the water. I want another
tense for what you mean to me still, lightfast
or stealth, full tilt or zack laughing,
go back, take my hand, I can’t get home.
at night on roofs in the commonwealth
air I have seen some of the boys I love
take off their shirts. clay left
on my suede shoes. take off your shirt.
