The Man Who Can
Poem
You run a bath for my return
I take out the bins
I forget half of all I yearned
You remember little things
You have the eye, the finer touch
I engage in fauvist art
Laying roads down with my brush
So fervent in my marks
That sometimes I brush over you
I’m the king of selfish boors
And while I’m voicing my confusions
You are left with yours
I want to be the one who chooses
Not to interrupt
I want to be your loving Lucas
The man who can
Shut up
more by Lucas Howard
photograph by Priscilla Westra
