trophy

By Charles Carter

My first landlord had jowls like an old Walter Matthau

and walls covered in exotic animal carcasses. 

I’m getting married and want to add my spouse to the lease.

Well. All right, he said. What’s her name?

He, actually.

His eyes shifted to a blank space on his wall.

His eyes shined bright. Electric even.

This poem originally appeared in Stonecoast Review Issue 17. 

Photo by Vidar Nordli-Mathisen