In Streets
I queer pride myself on taking tongue
to town, drop vowels
at bus stations,
kiss off short-lived lovers for another,
send silent signs, touch-eye everyone
as if desire speaks
my language. I’m Absolut, plastic nip.
Drink me.
Shadow casts the body,
trickster city streets, loose hip swinger,
tan tousle, speaker of the lie most missed.
I’m bronze boy in town square,
unbuttoned button-down
to show some tit.
Would you dream-dare
my lonely? Fearlessness
requires arms brushed accidentally,
statue tongue-tip, eye-lock
ticket, ticket, ticket in my fist.
Someone I could love waits for the Greyhound.
Robert Carr (he/him) is a Maine-based author of five collections of poetry, most recently, Blue Memento (Lily Poetry Review Books, 2025) and Phallus Sprouting Leaves, winner of the 2024 Rane Arroyo Chapbook Series (Seven Kitchens Press). Robert’s work has appeared in many journals and magazines including The Greensboro Review, The Massachusetts Review, The Seneca Review and Shenandoah. Recent recognition includes the 2026 Bates College Storme DeLarverie Award for Advocacy and Engagement.
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