Dennis Wilken
Guilty as Charged
Legs splayed
Like a gate, knocked loose from it hinges,
She moans,
And sobs,
Then later, lying on her belly,
My hands on her ass,
Pushes aside afterglow's curtained contentment,
Says: "You probably feel good but I'm conflicted
Because you control my body."
She's 27, a child of abandonment and Myspace,
So her fucking orgasms
Are my fault.
----
Past Due
Seeing my mom, at 89,
I can't shake the feeling we,
Like prescription medicine, and cheeses,
Have an expiration date
But are somehow congenitally unable,
Or unwilling,
To see it.
---
The Fool's Golden Age
Puttering around the house
Now too big,
Like someone else's pants,
The circle of her life
Tightens,
Reducing her concerns to meals, medicine
And the state of her bowels;
Still, for her age, exceptional,
But that qualification
As she falls toward 90,
Seems somehow
Dennis Wilken is a freelance journalist, poet, and author. Before moving west he attended the University of Cincinnati where he majored in journalism. Dennis' work has appeared previously in The CommonLine Project and is forthcoming in Madswirl. Currently Dennis lives and works in Seattle, Washington.