Terence Winch Poems

Didn't know if he was a retard or a drunk.
He would lurch around Gaelic Park
...

We went out to eat.
It was like walking on eggs.
The waiter spilled the beans
...

You bring out your articles and pronouns
your justifications and protestations.
...

He keeps offering me money.
Three thousand, five thousand,
whatever. Name the amount.
...

I remember a party, he remarked. Her underwear
signified the grueling rehearsal. Infectious.
Outgoing. He picked the place. He whispered
...

The contest is over. I lost, you lost.
I had an intensely anatomical body
and gave it to you. Thirty years ago
...

Using verbs that bite, the cold period stands
in before the troops. Snow is on the way:
we tell our fathers that we love them. He spies
...

At the party, we shouted insults at the hostess.
She served us raw fish/ we wanted red meat.
She hated our jokes about the dry heaves.
...

Left to right: Sigmund Freud, age sixteen, with Schopenhauer,
Glenn Miller, and a naked girl, in front of Wal-Mart, pondering
...

The way things come apart. Information leaks
all over you. Sharon was nude. We refused to eat
on the basis of video surveillance dogma. My salad
...