Ode To My Boxer Shorts Poem by Aaron Rudolph

With purple goldfish swimming
on the fabric, they are my favorite
pair. The school of goldfish bulge
eyes, perhaps aware of their placement.
I wear them in comfort
and breathe easier. I have other pairs,
like the polar bear sipping a margarita,
a gift from Aunt Trisha, the woman
who gave me a coconut monkey
for my First Holy Communion.
Then there's the pair with a flashy red racer
cruising down the speedway, Indy 500
written in grayed cursive. I have others
that don't speak, just stripes or polka dots.
I used to have boxers with hearts on them,
a Valentine's present from Tammy, but when she
stormed out of the apartment, I rushed
to my special boxer drawer, grabbed the hearts
and chased her, throwing the shorts at her.
I screamed, These are yours. They're cliché.


(from Sacred Things (Bridge Burner's Press,2002))