Dennis Hinrichsen


[mosaic] [divina commedia] [with a Boxer in It]


the world is abattoir // your father naked before nature again—he’s soiled
his pants—and so we wheel him like a college prank Christmas day
to a bathroom no bigger than a phone booth // last chance
to call it in maybe // to embrace misery of dying // but he doesn’t die—
this Marine—Semper Fi (which he always said meant hooray for me and F you—
never mind Iwo Jima—all those deaths) // he just quips and lets us strip him
down // excrement everywhere // and then—diaper on the floor—he has
to pee suddenly now—pizzle shrunken image of mine to come—so he pees—
a glorious stream hitting cool tiles as if from a fountain or worn-out god //
—then—scrotum hanging—turns so daughter can better clean between
his buttocks // no shame—he praises—clean swipe—tires—we sit him down //
he is like that boxer in Rome turning to gauge the crowd // pale skin rutted
with spots // inlaid runs of copper and time // —how he commands—his desire—
pants!—he’s starving (clean) needs to eat—and so we eat // we laugh and eat


[Waiting for the End of the World with Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass]


if martini then Tijuana night // my parents on the concrete slab back
of the house in lawn chairs // cigarettes and sweating drinks //
the night club pose // prelude (maybe) foreplay // Herb Alpert blasting
from the cabinet stereo songs about food—really sex—that’s what
the whipped cream is saying // dinner not ready yet but they are richer
for their love // I cannot deny them this // it is the end of their world
I am surviving // rations—grilled cheese and tomato soup //
crackers // anything frozen // canned // I am dark under the eyes //
I am orphan with new sounds // on the beach wandering wastelands
to come // world in runaway—gas already 30 cents and rising—
brave new signage pointing north then south then north again
its perfect decimal of misperception // better drugs later // more
efficient lies // the only bet I made that night was hunger—oven still cold—
as mother bled her Revlon nursing drinks // then caressed my father’s arm


[Too Young to Die] [Too Young to Rock ‘n’ Roll]

It’s no secret that bluegrass music is all about lonesome.
“William Shakespeare Who?—The Deep Roots of Bluegrass Songs”
Wayne Erbsen, Hudson Valley Bluegrass Association


sky like badass banjo going down // somebody deft on mandolin //
then wind perhaps // driving strumming sheets of it //
this is bluegrass // killing as it sings // taking no prisoners //
another sundown in his brain going lonely to its end—
there’s no one else to see it—just this boy and a ball so he can fake
the spectacular (new house no friends school months away) //
the head long dives second grief of the body // miraculous snags
at shoestring // grass the embrace // his bed of nails // Foggy Mountain
cutting low—platter after platter—out of a neighbor’s window
until he’s soaked with it—shadow and water—and he’s with
Tamara again (bass thump of footsteps inside his heartache on blued grass) //
they’ve been kissing—and have fallen asleep—will wake
to motherhand cut with pedal steel ripping hand from daughter’s breast



(These poems are from the book Flesh-plastique from Green Linden Press.)

 

Dennis Hinrichsen’s tenth full-length collection of poems, Flesh-plastique, will be published by Green Linden Press Spring 2023. His previous collection, schema geometrica, was awarded the Press’ inaugural Wishing Jewel Prize and appeared in 2021. His other awards include the Grid, Michael Waters, Tampa, FIELD and Akron Poetry Prizes. New poems of his are appearing or forthcoming in Abandon Journal, The Cincinnati Review, Leon Literary Review, Ninth Letter, On the Seawall, Posit, RHINO, The West Review, West Trade Review, and Witness. He lives in Michigan, where from 2017–2019, he served as inaugural Poet Laureate of the Greater Lansing area.

ISSN 2472-338X
© 2022