Looks and Wishes

In a queue he attracts my gaze.

Thirty-ish maybe, with shaved

head, neat beard, plaid shirt,

jeans, and bright green canvas

high-tops. From a few feet away

I estimate measurements: maybe

four inches taller, five pounds

lighter, but definitely within

the right ranges. He’s intent

on ordering his drink, not

looking behind. Coffee or tea

in hand, he’ll be re-settles at his

corner table by the time I find

a place to sip my beer and

scan the local papers, my back

toward him though I manage

some over-the-shoulder glances

unseen and unreturned. I haven’t

time to linger, but as I depart,

I risk a final look, which he this

time briefly returns, but whether

with interest or without it’s

impossible to determine without

asking him directly, and that

seems just a bit too forward.


Copyright 2014

  1. Allen Culpepper


Sprawled on the grass beside his bike

in Sempione Park on a warm spring day,

nearly naked, just short shorts and sneakers,

dark-haired and fit, with smooth, hairless

chest and slightly hairy legs, he stretches,

adjusts the position of his right arm,

with which he has been shielding his face,

pats his lean abs with his left hand,

then shifts again and slides both hands

over his torso, now glistening with sweat.


At this point, were he in a porn film,

one hand would drift into his shorts,

and a handsome stranger would suddenly

emerge from the bushes, and after

a bit of carefully orchestrated foreplay,

do him hot and heavy on the bicycle,

but this is reality, so he just writhes

a bit in the warmth, not that I’m watching.


Copyright 2014

T. Allen Culpepper