Donal Mahoney

When I get home
things will be the same.
I haven’t changed.
 
The sling
comes off the day
I get on the plane.
 
I’ll be able
to cut the grass,
rake the leaves,
 
shovel the snow,
all the stuff I did before.
And every morning
 
in summer, fall,
winter and spring,
when we wake up,
 
I’ll draw rosettes
with the tip
of my tongue
 
on your nipples,
await your orders to
bivouac elsewhere.
 
Nothing has changed.
I’m feeling fine.
We’ll cleave again.
 
 

Nominated for Best of the Net and Pushcart prizes, Donal Mahoney has had poetry and fiction published in various publications in North America, Europe, Asia and Africa. Some of his earliest work can be found at http://booksonblog12.blogspot.com/