John Andrews


says you can stay in my house with me
     till I cum inside you. Remember
     what fill means, hours waiting:
     your car before a mechanic

     maps out every engine crack. 
     How many warning lights
     can actually be solved through
     Prayer? His money,

     you want to take everything
     with his name on it, go so far
     as to make him beg, like he
     believes it, till he 

says a young boy like you needs
     A man to remind him his job
     is temporary, boys south
     of the border are lining up

     to test the beds of every house,
     find the fruit they like the most, 
     start picking. Buy time,
     more so leather underwear

     A harness, something to hold
     his attention, sweet meat,
     offer a loin, whatever
     piece left worth salting. 

say you’ll never find a meal hot enough.

John Andrews' first book, Colin Is Changing His Name, was a finalist for the 2015 Moon City Poetry Prize and was published by Sibling Rivalry Press in 2017. His work has appeared in Redivider, Ninth Letter, Columbia Poetry Review, and others. He holds an M.F.A. from Texas State University where he served as managing editor for Front Porch Journal. Currently, he is Ph.D. student at Oklahoma State University and an associate editor for the Cimarron Review.