The Detroit Eagle
by Alex Bortell
Wishing to be whittled
into boyhood, I cross
arms over chest. Flatten
men on stomachs. Resisting
classification: stone
unpalmed. I callous
while heaven’s roof grows
cold in my mouth. Metallic
breath and leather tight
around ankles. I demand
meat raw. How proud
I am, giving freely
when least hungry. I would
rather take a fist in
groin or ear, learn
to live with the sweat
of myself. I break
my only rule. Avoid
communion in search of
marrow for my oiled
tongue. Trading sympathy under
the table as a boy
buzzes closer. He needs
to know but is frightened by
real men. With my body
I teach him fear again.