Waggle and Jounce

Out on the lake
the whitecaps leap,
old lions shot in midair.
Not far from the water
I sit on a knoll
and open your letter.


You're in Sacramento now
singing for money.
Here in Chicago,
on hot August nights,


I lick in my dreams
at the scoops
in your shoulders.
I prefer them to ice cream.


Next week I'll fly out
and salute your nipples.
Long may your buttocks
waggle and jounce.


Donal Mahoney


From The Forest

In another moment
it will all be over.
On this winter night
her breast will slip
from her blouse
like a fawn, in spring,
from the forest.


Donal Mahoney


Nutmeat

My dear, tell me again so I know
how it would have been
had you married the man

you dream of all day, tell me again
as I lie next to you now,
your nutmeat sweet in my mouth.

Tell me again so I know
how to feel for fathering five
on you fast, five in six years,

five who will never be quiet again
in our lives, five who will leave
in the night when they are of age

while up in our room I nibble
on nutmeat, proud to have traded
an oak for these acorns

Donal Mahoney

Donal Mahoney, a native of Chicago, lives in St. Louis, Missouri. He has worked as an editor for The Chicago Sun-Times, Loyola University Press and Washington University in St. Louis. He has had poems published in or accepted by The Wisconsin Review, The Kansas Quarterly, The South Carolina Review, The Beloit Poetry Journal, Commonweal, Public Republic (Bulgaria), Revival (Ireland), The Istanbul Literary Review (Turkey), Rusty Truck, Deuce Coupe, Opium Poetry 2.0, Asphodel Madness, Calliope Nerve, Pirene's Fountain (Australia) and other publications.