Poems by Dennis Mahagin

Blues For Bil­ly C

I'm used
to being fucked
but it's not what
you think;

flip me a cou­ple bucks?
I won't trip, I don't

drink.

A show­er
of vio­let misty
steam feels
good.

Costs four bucks at Pilot
truck­stop banya cedar­wood.

It's cool

in the morn­ing
you don't look like a saver.

I be wan, at John's Land­ing,
kills me, beg­ging
favors.

Nine­ty two degrees, now you won­der
why I shiv­er? What­ev­er, what­ev­er
cash you can spare. I get over

the under­pass,
you won't see me
make it

there.

De-Press Star You Got More Options

You have reached
the offices of med­ical
plaza

one…hold on
think of times
when you real­ly
had some

fun:

Miche­lin
pen­du­lum
hung above

the swim­ming
hole, made
sticky love

with Made­line
in tenth grade!

We prac­ti­tion­ers
are gone with part­ners
on the back nine,

free

to shoot bogeys and chew
on our argot, with pink
tees, with élan; think
of sto­geys

by Lee Van Cleef. Hang 'em
high, patient you are not
going to die. If this be

a med­ical emer­gency,
then why you
still hear
me?

Ever won­der
about those sirens on
the BBC? So very dif­fer­ent

from ours, take you
right out

of your­self.

Slug it
down cold, a breath
inside bel­ly on

hold; like
I told you
already

about med­ical

plaza one:
God is with you,
now my mes­sage

is done.

Den­nis Mahagin's poems and sto­ries appear in Juked, 2opus, Exquis­ite Corpse, Stir­ring, Absinthe Lit­er­ary Review, 3 A.M., Night Train, PANK, Sto­ry­glos­sia, and Smoke­long Quar­ter­ly, among oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. He's also a staff edi­tor at Frigg mag­a­zine. Den­nis lives and works in east­ern Wash­ing­ton state.

Look for his chap­book of sex poems, enti­tled "Fare," com­ing lat­er in 2011, from FCAC in con­junc­tion with Red­neck Press.

 

 

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