Poem 15 ± World AIDS Day 2017

Joseph Dorazio
Two Poems

 

Sanguinary

He wished he had died
from AIDS in his prime
—not survival guilt,
his place on the quilt;
on lucky days the Aztecs
plucked ripe young men,
their unzipped chests
sustained a sun, while
Quetzalcoatl lubed in blood
got fucked.

 

Moving Day

Moving is like dying—
only you get to live;

I’ve spent half my life
moving.

I knew some men
who had full-blown AIDS,

they sold their 401(k)s,
and reversed their mortgages:

all packed-up and ready to go,
just as the new drugs came out.

The mess of unpacking—
maybe this time I won’t stack the cups

carefully in the cupboard,
or fold my clothes neatly in a drawer—

maybe I’ll just leave everything in boxes.

 

Joseph Dorazio is the author of No Small Effort (Aldrich Press, 2015), As Is (iUniverse, 2013), and
Remains to Be Seen (iUniverse, 2013). His poems have appeared in The Worcester Review, The Southampton Review; New Plains Review, Spoon River Poetry Review, and elsewhere.

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