Hotting Up

by Zach Arnett

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On no one do I wish the occasion  
of sin still I am not your friend 

my head hangs in the lip
of  a hole where cowshit goes to die

behold the husband in his perfect agony
so you compare my love
to your weight on the moon  

you may kiss me in on a good deal 
while feeding coyfish in the pond 
but the bank is steep and water’s up 

enlist me in your clean way-
bare arms and round holes
to confirm I’m a nosebleed

but we both know it's a bad rash
to set your hat upon the motel bed

as for my grand scheme of contrition   
I would go squash bugs in Donut, Nevada 

nine hundred colony forming units
cherry big on the hood of my IROC-Z 

I wish  you long custody 
over your book of earthly intentions

everyone’s finding burnt pages in their yard 

my love chews on the strap of its muzzle and I’ll bite
that I ain't ever seen a wild thing sorry for itself, 

thumb the cataracts out of a doe,  
or ever wondered if it’s hideous

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Zach Arnett lives in Fort Wayne, Indiana. His poetry has been nominated for Best of the Net and appears or is forthcoming in Bodega, South Dakota Review, Bending Genres, Hominum Journal, and elsewhere. He works at the library.