David Hopkins
_________________________________________________
Trailer Pixies
The heads of the neighbor boys
were small and sunk between their
shoulders like uncircumcised
penises, but with bigger eyes,
shaped like chewed gum, like bubbles
that had popped, or amoebas moving
away from each other. They ran
around wailing in underwear,
white with yellow blotches turning green,
and unmatched thick socks with holey heels.
They asked if I wanted to sniff glue
out of a crinkled brown bag down
behind the abandoned trailer
by the sewer that had one rear
flat tire and leaned toward the bank
above the sweet-sour fumes. They
got mad when I said no, and so tied
me to a tree and stuffed my mouth
with a pine cone so I couldn't
scream; they ran in circles
singing and sniffing around me,
their backs arched toward heels,
hair falling over their eyes as
they twirled like dervishes.
