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My Man

hunch up those shoulders
carry that hollow barrel chest
on spindly trembling legs
practice your ghostly motions
stare obscenely out of eyes like yellowed olives
your gates are closed for good
and i stand
holding you up
listening to disconnected mutter
while you piss black tar
dribbling onto the floor
and you say “I’m sorry”
my man
oh my man
there’s a hole in my heart.

Lee Dunn View All

Lee Dunn has been writing since the age of 18, but found that work got in the way for the ensuing 48 years. In his home town of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, he reveled in his independence at an early age, and spent as much time as he could exploring the city’s Arts scene. He was introduced to poetry and prose by the works of two literary giants, namely J.R.R. Tolkien and J.W. Lennon and thence fell in love with the written word. His work includes poetry, short fiction, and personal essays, and ranges in theme from the surreal to the horrific, nostalgic, and themes on the human condition. He has been published on Spillwords.com, The Dark Poets Club, Journal of Undiscovered Poets, Crepe & Penn Literary magazine, and the Shelburne Free Press.

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