Sex and Taxes

By Kevin Cantwell Kevin Cantwell
       Plum black & the blush white of an apple
shoulder, melon & cream, in tones to list
       the flesh; in light, washed colors off at last
& textures sheer with damp I slowly pull
       from you with your quick help. Weekend's ample
procrastinations to forget the least
       of what we want to do. April, half a blast
of cold, half new light, green & simple.
       Now dusk. Now fear. We pencil what we owe
on this short form, our numbers good enough.
       The goose-neck glare undoes how we spent the day.
Each bite each bee-sting kiss each bitten O
       all aftertaste. Later, at the drop-off,
       postmark queue, we joke: "Now we can die!"

Source: Poetry (April 1999).


This poem originally appeared in the April 1999 issue of Poetry magazine

April 1999


Kevin Cantwell is the author of the poetry collections Something Black in the Green Part of Your Eye (2002) and One of Those Russian Novels (2009). He has received the River City Poetry Award, the Agnes Scott Award for Poetry, and the James Dickey Award. The editor of Writing on Napkins at the Sunshine Club: An Anthology of Poets Writing in Macon (2011), Cantwell chairs the Department of Media, Culture, and the Arts at Middle . . .

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Poem Categorization

SUBJECT Spring, Love, The Body, Nature, Relationships, Desire

POET’S REGION U.S., Southern

Poetic Terms Imagery, Free Verse

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