Sweet Macho Nothings

Robert Peters

When he made love to Mitchum
he'd wear his lineman's belt
and say "Dude," "Bohunk," and "Mack,"
in a bass voice.

He'd insert his thumbs into his belt
and stride that fragrant asshole walk
strode so well by mechanics and cowboys.

He'd arrange his tools one by one-
the clawhammer, the phillips screw driver,
the stapler . . . until he'd formed
an abstract Mitchum on the pearly
sheets. A couple of bolts for nipples,
a link of silver chain for a penis.

He'd chant sweet macho nothings
into the coupling-wrench
and grind his wet body over the cold
rasp, in ecstasy. He'd pinch his testes
with a pliers: "Mitchum. Mitchum. Mitchum."


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