The Cuban-heel dress shoes are a surprise
with his jeans and V-necked sweater
over micro-check shirt, all buttoned up;
his boyfriend, cuter but scruffier,
wears flip-flops this warming spring afternoon:
the one all work-week seriousness,
the other, sliding toward the weekend.
Copyright 2014
T. Allen Culpepper
Dozing grass snuggled
‘neath purple floral blanket,
sleeping in ’til May.
Copyright 2014
T. Allen Culpepper
The green and white urge themselves together
at divergent angles in the corner,
the lines of demarcation fuzzy, blurred
by myopic eyes into abstraction,
as the head, its allergic ache
compounded by the stresses of the week,
too little sleep and too much Spanish wine,
tries to clear itself, meditate,
first on nothing, then on respiration,
then, inevitably, on the intruding to-do list–
grading and bills and cleaning and shopping and laundry,
oh, and making time for exercise–
trying to organize itself for the day,
filing functions, tasks into mental drawers
half-shut, half-open, overflowing with bulging
recycled folders disordered and mislabeled,
like a basket of socks arranged by a cat.
Sunlight filters in through dust, highlights
piles of books and clothes, a trail of dirty
glasses and coffee cups. When head tries
not to think, it does, but when it tries
to concentrate on a single thought,
the green and white race together, collide.
Copyright 2014
T. Allen Culpepper
Ay! Que es guapo,
Sergio at the taco stand
with his friends from work—
slim brown Latino, dark eyes,
long sideburns, denim workshirt.
Copyright 2014
T. Allen Culpepper
Though far too tall to be my type,
the more handsome of the two
has dark brown hair and beard, dark eyes,
black knit cap, hoodie faded blue.
Shorts and sneakers, hairy legs,
but chest looks smooth at open neck.
Under laptop, textbook open;
speaks in husky baritone
to the second, who’s just come in,
not bad but no match for his friend.
This dude’s all in navy, shorter,
with laptop but not book; he orders
right away, something fancy.
First guy still sipping from paper cup,
just a coffee, but he’s getting antsy
up and down, must’ve had too much.
Copyright 2014
T. Allen Culpepper
In front of me at the theatrical performance
with his girlfriend, he’s lean and blond—
short hair, fuzzy chin, tight jeans
by his firm glutes well enhanced.
When he stretches post-Act 3,
the low jeans show some cheek;
looks like he didn’t bother with briefs,
but I think I like another peek.
Copyright 2014
T. Allen Culpepper
So in this magazine interview, rapper Angel Haze
claims sexual orientation’s like having a favorite color.
(Don’t feel blue; it’s not easy being green.)
And goes on to say, “I should be able to do
whatever and whoever I want at any given time.”
Now I rather like the favorite-color analogy
(though maybe it works best with a complex color like purple),
and I’m all about following your instincts where they lead you,
and parties not involved minding their own business,
but she’s twenty-two and her words reveal
equal parts fierceness and naiveté:
At more than twice her age, I’ve finally learned the lesson
that when you’re in the mood, whatever costs too much
and the whoever that you fancy at the moment,
not knowing or not caring, is out with someone else.
Copyright 2014
T. Allen Culpepper
Poetry When It Comes 