Allen Itz

creating perfection

a small mole
at the base of her spine
calls to me as she walks away

this tiny imperfection
on taut, tanned skin
creating perfection

like a god
who laughs
at the absurdity
of his creations

suav-ay

he's
a little guy
in the potted meat aisle
with a big hat,
cowboy boots
and a belt buckle
the size of a
DeSoto hubcap

and
a thin little
fifteen-whiskers-in-a-row
mustache
like Dylan's taken to

no,
not like Dylan,
no irony here,
but a serious grab
at cool,
at suav-ay,
like a guy selling
anti-itch
hemorrhoidal cream
door-to-door

overcompensating

I knew
the guy's father,
or someone like him,
years ago

hell,
could'a been me,
with that cowboy rig

but not the silly little mustache

mine was a big
droopy
thing,
kinda like hairy handlebars
on a kiddy bike
with training wheels

funny,
but it all seemed
normal
then

suav-ay
even