Matthew Laffrade’s work has recently appeared in Ditch Poetry, Camel Saloon, and Requiem Magazine and is forthcoming in Hitherto and Notes from the Underground. He received University of Toronto’s Harold Sonny Ladoo Book Prize for his novella Past Present. He lives outside Toronto.
By Matthew Laffrade
Goats out of the palm of your hand. His tongue was long and a
Woman blushed. He almost ate my hand but gave it back sans pellets.
His girlfriend’s name was Rainbow and she eyed us from the side.
If she was jealous of our budding relationship, having just met and
Having her mate eat out of the palm of my hand she did not show it. I made
A note to take her to play poker in Vegas, a trench coat and hipster casual
Fedora making her appearances to the wary Bengal tigers of the sideshow.
We would rent a convertible because there was no other way and we would
Act out scenes to demonstrate our demented fondness for Fear and Loathing on the trail of wild animals gambling with scarcer resources than
Are afforded in the Serengeti. Our winnings would be spent on binoculars.