Body

Beloved dry inch
on the outside of my right index finger

beloved toenails growing
so quickly I carry a clipper
in my backpack

beloved nose,
always leaking

beloved skin, ruddy
in some places, hoary
in others, leathered
soles of my feet, tender wrists,

beloved belly,
 

			

			
							

Three Poems – John Paul Davis

Year Of The Game Face

That was the year no work came, concrete
year, storm cloud year. Year of hooking
my finger deep in the driverside
seat looking for coins.

It was my weekend with my children, & I wouldn't
feed them the ramen noodles I was feeding myself. Their hearts flapped
& glowed like summer wings; even in winter
their skin & shouting lit entire rooms. How could I not 
take them for donuts & pizza?

That Christmas, I'd sold my music collection, fifteen thousand 
dollars' worth for four hundred, 
enough for gifts, a tree. Now, in the Year 
of Hiding the Car From the Repo Truck
I had just enough gas left to drive to Third St,
both boys excited to go somewhere new.