Eclipse by Wayne F. Burke

When I was in third grade
there was an eclipse of the sun
that Charlie Baguette and me
agreed to watch
through his father’s telescope,
each taking turns holding a piece of green wielding glass
up to the lens.
On the day of the eclipse I walked across
the yards and the hot grass,
smelling like boiled vegetables,
to Charlie’s house
and knocked on the door;
his mother stood in the screen window
squinting at me,
one eye closed.
She wore a pink negligee.
“Is Charlie home?”
“No.”
Her tits spilled out of the
pink cups.
“Can I have a drink of water?”
The door opened wide enough for me
to squeeze through.
The house smelled like sweat.
She turned her back to me
and stepped to the sink.
I shoved my hand up between her legs.
“Hey!” she said.
I reached up and grabbed
the nipple of the nearest breast.
She spun around:
I thought she would slap me
but she grabbed my head and
pulled me to her chest.
I sucked on her nipple
and jammed my hand down
the front of her
bikini pants
and started to finger
her snatch.
She moaned and her eyes
went blank,
like stars.
“Oh my god,” she said
as she sunk to her knees.
She pulled my wiener out of
my shorts:
it looked like an uncooked
Jimmy Dean sausage;
she snapped it up like a fish
taking a bait
and began to suck…
I heard Charlie walk in.
“Ma! What are you doing?” he shouted.
“Mind your own business! Go to your room!”
Charley turned and walked off
in a huff.
I thought I would never stop
coming.
I forgot all about the eclipse.

wayne-f-burke
Wayne F. Burke’s poetry has appeared in a variety of publications (including “In Between Hangovers”). His three published poetry collections, all from Bareback Press, are WORDS THAT BURN, DICKHEAD, and KNUCKLE SANDWICHES. His chapbook PADDY WAGON is published by Epic Rites Press. He lives in Vermont.

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