By Stephen Briseño
–After Simone Muench
He is a cock
leading his bantam chest
into the conference room,
primed to crack the dawn
with his crow
and stamp the earth
with the talons of his
expertise.
On weekends, he sheds his feathers
in favor of knee length khakis,
leather boat shoes,
a turquoise Vineyard Vines tee
with a canary merino sweater
limped over the shoulders
crossed
and folded over.
The whisper of a hug.
He lies in wait in the comments section
of Youtube videos,
Liberty Bar on S. Alamo,
the kitchen table, and pounces
on every anecdote you share,
convinced he comes off
as perceptive, provocative,
piquant.
He is dog ears, pricked
at attention to sounds like
investment capital, gun control, Heisman,
protests, feminists,
faucets.
He is dog’s breath
exhaling his swamp heat
of know-how until you
sweat.
He is Trump’s Twitter feed
given gelatinous flesh,
scratching the itch at the corner
of his mouth because
Apparently, you can’t sell a second-hand car
For as much as a new one.
How would you have known that?
Why don’t you give him some time to
explain?
Author’s Note: the italicized lines in the final stanza are from the OED’s website for their definition of mansplaining
Stephen Briseño‘s work has appeared or is forthcoming in Memoir Mixtapes, 8 Poems, formercactus, Bone & Ink Press, and Rabid Oak. He lives in San Antonio with his wife and daughter, teaches middle school English, and drinks far too much coffee. Follow him on Twitter: @stephen_briseno
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