Poetry selection from the 2005 issue
Confessional Poem #783
by Frank Giampietro
I have dried my hands on my dog.
I have stolen the first line of this poem
from a TV commercial
for beer. I have used a cock ring.
I fear the art teacher at the school where I work
will use this knowledge against me someday.
I have asked my wife not to disturb me
while I write poems like this
in my moleskin journal.
In the Bronx you can get a divorce
or incorporate for $299.
I have no idea what hookers do
when they are having their period.
So impressed by the physician’s museum,
at the gift shop I buy a squeezable heart.
I have a son who asks why many times each day.
My cat’s name is Seymour—like see more
I tell my son. Someday,
if my heart doesn’t give out too soon,
my boy will pity me.
Amoskeag 