Men I’ve Dated in Random Order
Nancy A. Henry
He’s going on about dry fittings again and I’m nodding.
He’s going on about Led Zeppelin and Meatloaf
and Fenders and Stratocasters and Martins
and amps and boosters and his band and his
gigs and the tightass lead vocalist who won’t
let him sing on the J. Geils covers
especially Centerfold where he sounds
just like Peter Wolf
and
I’m nodding.
He’s going on about
fresh salmon with bernaise sauce
and garnishes and the class on making
exquisite garnishes and the sixteen
special knives he has for cutting radishes
and kohlrabi into garnishes,
into every kind of flower you’ve ever seen
and about how bottle green is so different
in effect from colonial green when you’re talking
upholstery and I’m figuring out he’s definitely gay
and I’m nodding
He’s going on and on and on crappie
and bluegills and perch and pickerel
and big and smallmouth bass and their
sperm and their row and their beds and their
fingerlings and spinners and bobbers and
fucking speckled rubber crawfish and
I’m nodding.