Low Pleasures

local_library Low Pleasures

by Darren Demaree

Published in Issue No. 192 ~ May, 2013

It was a clubhouse with fake phones in it,

when I first, without malice, called bitch

into the empty receiver, the girl I had tried

to kiss, holding it up to my chin, teaching me

how to swear. Then, those fuck fuck fucks

I strung together while my youthful body

found the reality of my sporting talent,

my shoulder fraying with every slight pull,

like those dreams had been made of cotton

& how good it felt to swear in the YMCA

when I dropped the dumbbell on my finger,

had it split the bone right through. True

in spirit, how I miss that innocent language,

awful in its expression, shocking to the spirit,

but now I use those words in earnest, in full

meaning. The man that knocked down

my daughter at the post office is a bastard

or a motherfucker. The ex-girlfriend, waving

herself at me online is a petty bitch

& with every bill I open, the math in my head

says fuck fuck fuck. All shit, I still like the sailor

in my vernacular, but it feels too close to me

now, too low on the hip, like a damned weapon.

account_box More About

Darren C. Demaree is living in Columbus, Ohio with his wife and children. He is the author of "As We Refer To Our Bodies" (2013) and "Not For Art Nor Prayer" (2014), both are forthcoming from 8th House Publishing. He is the recipient of two Pushcart Prize nominations.