Destroyer
Any boy can,
can play with their aura, can
wear their magic jewelry:,
in Washington Heights,
any boy can write poetry for themselves
—I wrote poetry for myself—,
but they have to admit—I, too, am ashamed—,
that blue eyes occasionally glance
at their words,
that they spend too much time with
the eaters of grilled cheese with ajvar
and garlic scapes and pickled walnuts—
I heard they’re not good for you!—,
so much time that they’ll eventually
smell like oud too, its rotting trees,
sickly nice like white boy codeine,
so sweet I can’t tell they’re sticking me up,
that they have it in for me,
destroyers of my world, and those
who taste like me
**
Italicized material from ‘Blue Eyes’, Kaputt (2011) by Destroyer.
**
Immune Systems
I swear my nose is stuffed up,
and I can barely breathe like this,
windpipe clogged, mouth agape
to let the air in and out,
the rattling of my breath
and clucking of my tongue
on the roof of my mouth,
makes you think I am about to speak,
about to break my silence,
but instead I just continue my breathing,
back mattress-bound, eyes glazed and distant,
you wait to hear the words you’ve been wanting for:
there is a male victimhood epidemic;
but you’ll keep waiting,
because the sickness has me now,
the beta-complex, and my blood cells struggle,
unshackling me from disease,
because freedom begins with remorse,
or sadness begins with assurance
and the silence means you lost
**
Kaleem M. Hawa [1] is a graduate student and Rhodes scholar at Lincoln College. He is the recent winner of The White Review Poet’s Prize.