Andy Poem by The Poet SPIEL

Andy, letting me touch his leg so I'm failing to concentrate
on conjugating verbs in our Spanish class.

I can't help it,
my face wanting to become his face,
his skin flawless, cheeks rosy petal soft.
He's perfect smart, the prettiest man I've ever known
and he knows I'm feeling him up every day. You should have seen him with his shirt off.

Son of a hard military man who treats him wrong,
forces him to be perfect, an upright Valedictorian Rhodes Scholar, while I drop out of university twice with
little nervous breakdowns — crying all the time.
So, I move to Hollywood to get crazy-queerer,
same time as he's coming back home from school in England.

Andy seals the garage door at his old man's place, takes the exhaust pipe route inside his flawless rosy petal skin.

And when I get the awful news, I'm wondering if he might've
let other guys touch his leg — maybe more. And the feared reprimand by his strict military old man would be worse than suicide.

_____The Poet SPIEL