By: Matt Vekakis
Wild West
I know the insular
In Shaker saltbox
And Victorian turret,
Wintercreeper
Flagellations over
Barren crop cleared
From forest like the
Hairless patch of a
Neutered hound. At
Jackson Square, the
River speaks lethargic;
Silver braid, with
Ribbons of bridge and
Barge; the sculptures
Of industry & lives
Forgotten to prayer.
Hunted. Haunted—
The brave go West.
Jefferson’s orders or
Your own: a syringe
In Salt Lake City; the
Corpse in the back-
Seat at the International
Border. You’re brave
Because you tried;
Fear has
Kept me
Here. Best
We get back to the
Airbnb in Bayou St.
John before the sky
Turns over and we’re
Exposed for what we
Are.
Kneejerk
after-
shave &
cigarillos
cigars fat
like old
thumbs
that horse-
shoe around
my neck. I’ve
associated
death with
spoiled milk
and Seagram’s
since the day
you were glad
I came. inhaling
& thinking I
had to: laughter
as the men
all turn to
look at a
self-betrayal
if it meant
you’d see me.
Matt Vekakis is a poet, educator & proud New Englander. His work has been published or is forthcoming in Gravitas, Poached Hare, Waccamaw, Inklette Magazine, Spectrum Magazine, Peregrine Journal and Tule Review among others. He lives with his beau in Northampton, MA—teaching 11th grade English at a local high school.
“Wild West”
Standing on an Eastern bluff overlooking the Mississippi River, “Wild West” is a lament of a limited worldview. Having never visited the American West—the Mississippi as a demarcation—I felt a sense of loss in the recognition. With so much of the world suddenly unknown to me, I reflected on the reasons that have kept my life oppressively safe and known—oftentimes at the expense of my true autonomy.
‘Kneejerk’
Masculinity is a performance. To a little boy in the company of men he doesn’t understand, “Kneejerk” is a rebuke of the binds that suffocate our authenticity.