BRETT AXEL

MATADOR

He says, like watching the bull get the matador
I ask, you saw that? He says, no. Been to Spain?

Don’t be an ass, it’s a metaphor
he says, I say, yeah, but

That’s some gory shit. Something worth
writing about if you see it

Something, if you see it, you couldn’t
throw around lightly I think.
 

DOING LAUNDRY ON THE ROAD

After six days in two changes of clothing
alternating daily so they will air out—
I get to a host with a washer and dryer.

While loading, something possesses me
to smell the briefs I had tied in a plastic bag for two days
(I tied them in to make sure not to wear them again)

They smell like you, my weekend detour in Santa Cruz.
Now I smile, remembering how I slipped them back on after—
your delicious juices still wet around the area

I had covered for sleep.
Now my Jockey shorts are nuzzled
under my nose like an FTD gift bouquet.

I’m thinking about not washing them yet
because if I can smell you, you are close.
The sound of two foot falls are enough

to get my underwear out of my hands and into the machine.
I dump powdered soap in without measuring,
shut the lid fast — hiding the evidence.

Now I am listening to the water spray and motor turn.
Now I am missing you thoroughly.
 

Brett Axel is like Toto. He holds no malice for anyone, yet in his search for simple truths he opens curtains, exposing the frailties of our Wizards. A trait which earns him the friendship of seekers and the resentment of humbugs.