Poems from the current issue
Hiram Poetry Review
The literary journal of Hiram College has been publishing
distinctive, witty, and heroic poetry since 1966

Issue 67, Spring 2006

Thomas Luedtke, "Inexpensive Alternatives to the Traditional Floral Bouquet"
Jessy Randall, "One Day, the Ass-Talker Stopped Talking Out of His Ass"
Mitchell Metz, "Blue Tattoo"


Thomas Luedtke
Inexpensive Alternatives to the Traditional Floral Bouquet

for K.Z.R.

Running your palm along my navel's thin fur
and remarking on the unusual depth and general roominess
of my bellybutton, your voice has no wink of sarcasm,
no whirring underhandedness,
speaking only to render what has been spoken
known and irrefutable in a habitual
making things accounted for,
abrupt recognitions that name
the shape of the world;
the cost of a can of beans
or the French word for shoes.
In the flat-mouthed meditation
of a young girl choosing a first pet,
you plucked a single hair,
hold the dark kinked orphan of my middle
between your forefinger and thumb,
lift it into a rope of sunlight coming through
the window and inspect with an eye closed before
smoothing the bed sheet beside me and placing
it carefully there, then return to my belly for another.
And I,wincing, wonder if this is a polite hint, if this is indeed
your preference, the cheaper but more painfully given
alternative to the small collections of flowers I bring
you and may never need bring again.


Jessy Randall

One Day, The Ass-Talker Stopped Talking Out of His Ass

His mother said, My darling, I can hardly believe it. His father
said, What? What did you say? His sister said It's only temporary. His
brother said Could you repeat that? And so the ass-talker apologized
again. I was wrong, he said. I was only guessing. I never really knew
the answer.


Mitchell Metz

Blue Tattoo

Thanks for attaching the pic
of the dragon tattoo on your tricep
Downloaded just fine. Can't say I've fashioned
a strong opinion on the tat, except that it looks like a seahorse

Which I suspect--
and I don't know much
about body art, or mythical creatures
for that matter--is not the effect you're shooting for.

Couldn't help but notice, though,
that there seems to be a woman
lurking beneath the beast.

May be wrong. Been wrong before
about girly lurking. But I think I see
some flesh and the strong presence

of no blood & some meat--the meat
that is you, peeking. Definite sinew.

Are you pale, or what? I knew
you were. You told me. White as a wafer.
Didn't figure you'd make it some kind of sacrament

in a new sect. Christ,
you're almost transparent!
White that wanes past itself
cannibalizes into blue. A blue needing. A blue
needing to be eaten by the suggestion of shadow,
or me. Speaking of me

speaking of shadow, I'm, yum, all over
your lack of cleavage. That pretty hint of not much
is about the most feminine thing I've ever not seen.

Your tits are double negatives,
baby, and I'm turned on
by bad logic.

Oh, and those stray curls
that fall from frame's edge to
kiss the rise of your shoulder?
Never used the word tendril before.
Consider this a first. Consider it tender.

They're gray!
Blonde, yeah. But gray, too.
Screw auburn and platinum, henceforth
blondeyeahbutgraytoo's the best color curls
could possibly be. I said best,

which brings us to the show stopper. (Sure,
I understand that your seahorse is the star,
the marquee act in our peek-a-boo drama,
so fierce and manifest and full of intent
blah, blah, blah ... ),

but from the wings
a bit player steals the scene.
She's a swan; the luxurious longitude
of your neck's tendon. Bold. Fragile.

Plunging provocatively
to the shadowed grotto, the shallow pocket
where the sternum bolsters throat, that very atrium
of flesh responsible for ... severe over-writing.

Point is,
it got me going.
And thanks for that.
I like the pic. Not bad.