at Rock Park two teenage girls
come walking down the river path
and glance through my car’s windshield
at the precise moment I am
digging for a stubborn booger
that’s been driving me crazy
all morning
they say Ewww!
and laugh
and keep walking
in their perfect
untouched
youth
and I smile
at their round asses
wobbling around the bend
because
they should laugh, you know?
and it’s ok—
I deserve it sometimes
probably...
I deserve it often
meanwhile...
downstream a man in hip waders
fly fishes
whipping his line
back and forth gracefully
snakelike into shadowed pools
every summer I see them
the fly fishermen
looking so serene
godlike, even
and I think—
I oughta try that
then suddenly
it’s winter
again
and I have failed
at something else
thin ice creeps
along the bank
under shivering
naked
limbs
I watch him awhile
the artistry of his casting
the perfection of it
and then I think—
wouldn’t it be something
if a great albino whale
rose up from the depths
and swallowed you whole
you motherfucker
Bob Earll in an AA talk said—
intimacy is me being me
and letting you see me
it’s not a bad definition
and everyone says
they want intimacy, yet..
when they get it....
I mean really get it
they’ll also be the first to say—
Maybe you should leave
now
sorry if I like a finger up my ass
now and then
sorry that I got whiskey dick
and couldn’t fuck you
like the stud of your dreams
sorry if I feel
inadequate sometimes
sorry if the weight of my bad decisions
my arrested adolescence
and my loser existence
gets to me
when the collective’s judgement
crashes in
like a tsunami of puke
sorry if I occasionally rage
then sob
you ask why I hide
why I sneak around
pretend
equivocate
what a stupid
fucking
question
Brian Rihlmann lives and writes in Reno, Nevada. His work has appeared in many magazines, including The Rye Whiskey Review, Fearless, Heroin Love Songs, Chiron Review and The Main Street Rag. His latest poetry collection, "Night At My Throat," (2020) was published by Pony One Dog Press.