Loudspeaker:: Two Poems by Henry Koskoff

Writing

Nov 7

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WUSSY is proud to present new work by Atlanta poet, Henry Koskoff. If you would like to send in a writing submission, please contact Nicholas Goodly.

Judas

My love, my honey-baked boy, your eyes tilt
with mischief tonight. At times like these

I wonder who wrote you: Judas, bad guy,
festering body of doubt. I want to ride

around town with you in your motorbike,
gripping the marble pecs beneath your linen.

From behind, I see the crest of streetlight
form on your hooked nose— don’t stop. Let’s blow lines

with the devil, let’s double down on sin,
let’s indulge in a haircut, let’s go to

work on Sunday and then work on ourselves.
I’m a strange dog; I’ll heed your beck and call.

My iambs have iambs, and I am
your disciple— your number one fan!

Ode to Uncrustables

When you lay your teeth on their pillow
they answer with a story. They say,
you took the right path sweetie, and here is
a brief history of peanut farming in Georgia.
And I’m chewing through all different types
of softness and I’m chewing and I’m eating
the machine’s hands as they stitch up the
gummy circumference so that people like me
don’t have to waste their time with the burns
of bread. Oh god, oh lord, I’m such a fool
to be eating this at my age but the inside is
sexy and fun like a party in a sponge house.
It fits into my palm and I realize there’s no Top
or Bottom to an uncrustable, because every part
is the same. In my dark room I say:

“Circle capsule, I want to cross-section you,
bread butter jelly butter bread, the sweet eclipse
rising. I want to sit on you and feel you implode
beneath me, your genius thin layers all mixing
into a remarkable stew. I’ll let you thaw and then
indulge until my throat pains, until I’m at
concession stands, little league games, purple
nurples and uncrustables all Saturday morning,
then on Wednesday I open my fire truck and see you—
I thought I ate you. You say hey, your voice all raspy
from sleeping, your eyes relaxed into their own
softness, so I nuzzle you in my cheek until we’re
sleeping together, so intimate, just a quiet moment
for the two of us.”

—

Henry Koskoff is currently a first year student at Emory University. He tends to write poetry, essays, and some fiction on a daily basis (in the Notes app on his phone.)

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