Ancient AstronautGreg Allendorf
Everybody needs a beloved. Some
look beyond and above. My baby died
in my arms like a Martian, his ribs
imploded into the oven of his chest.
Away he went, godlovvum. That was
10,000 years ago. My baby and I posed
nude amidst primitive trees. He pecked
my cheek and it caved. A feathered lizard
leapt into his arms, and it gored him. Today,
I have only his latex spacesuit. Today,
I think god how I loved once his body
as it materialized before me, spoke to me,
kissed me inquisitively. I loved wildly
when last he was here to allow me.
After coming twice, he vanished; have you
seen my ancient astronaut? He was here once;
he was the dunce in the high school play.
He was always watching crotches. From space,
he could see my heartbeat through the nape
of my neck, blow smooth my wavy hair.
I went back to where we met; he wasn’t there—
but the pond we strolled around still lay
like a victim under the cypress, goslings dotting
its all-consuming blackness like defenseless stars.
About Greg Allendorf
Greg Allendorf is originally from Cincinnati, OH. His poems have appeared in or are forthcoming from such journals as Smartish Pace, Subtropics, The Portland Review, Narrative Northeast, Gigantic Sequins, The Hawaii Review, and Memorious: A Journal of New Verse and Fiction. His chapbook, Fair Day in an Ancient Town, was recently selected by Kiki Petrosino for the Mineral Point Chapbook Series from Brain Mill Press. He holds graduate degrees from The University of Cincinnati and Purdue University. He currently lives in Columbia, MO, where he is a PhD candidate and Creative Writing Fellow at The University of Missouri-Columbia.
BMP Celebrates National Poetry Month 2016
If “love calls us to the things of this world,” then poetry too can call us to think about challenging questions, difficult situations, and social justice, implicating and engaging the reader with the world we live in, in the hope that this engagement is a step toward wrestling with our better selves.