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Nourish


You see the boy gleaming underneath the neighbor's

           motion detectors, face cut

with the clothesline's shadow, like his mouth

           was frothing with tar,

or blueberries, or maybe that's what hunger looks like,

           like a forty minute drive,

like gas money, and I want to ask him how much he spent

           to get here, so I can offer half, or at least

know how much I am worth, so later, when he's pulling out

           my spine with whatever instrument

makes the least amount of noise, I can gauge the right amount

           of soap, and boil, or maybe just lay in

its filth, like that dinner table with the plates rusting over,

           how I promised to clear it last week,

but just fell asleep on the couch with my pants unbuttoned.

by Hieu Minh Nguyen

Hieu Minh Nguyen is a native of Saint Paul, Minnesota. He has represented both of the National Twin Cities poetry slam teams, He has coached youth, and collegiate slam teams in the Twin Cities, and his work has also been featured in publications such as The Legendary, decomP Magazine, and PANK. He also works at a haberdashery. 

ISSN 2157-8079
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