Author: Dominic Gualco

Dominic Gualco lives in Sacramento. He's been published in Hobart, The Newer York, and Big Lucks. He can also be found on Tumblr and Twitter.

if you swim through the irrigation systems
through the rice fields and cornstalks
you will find a baby alligator at the mouth of the delta
under the breeze it will lick your toes
as it did to me when I was a child
when my hair was blonde
and mountain lions still roamed the river banks
before the ribboned men built apartment complexes
reaching toward the sky and covering the levees

Bathing in our character flaws
I will find a reason to breath again

I trim my finger nails with a razor
and when I cut too close
I can hear the blood beneath my knee curl.
I know it is waiting to get out

and I can hear leaches
sucking at the river’s surface.

That Robin Hood with Errol Flynn

I rub my corduroy pants
so a symphony may ride through
the cathedral’s stained glass.

Dear Father I must confess
I am a piece of shit.

I speak through the cocoa puffs I stuffed away
and instantly I am yours again.

Now I am the child crying from the garden
not the man hearing the child.

There are no maids to hide me
from the mustached man anymore.
I can hear his footsteps in the stone halls.

I fold a paper mouse into my shirt pocket
and scale down the ivies.