I had my own Frankenstein monster he’d been
dormant I unwrapped him expecting him to lie
still but I went away for a minute and he slid under my bed
I coaxed him out I’d been reading this book
about how preemies are massaged by nurses’ aides
so I started stroking his chest and arms and this soothed
him a big smile so happy he squeezed my tit
real hard I told him to stop and relieved he did right away
his face charred all black slowly turned
marbled blue he looked like an extraterrestrial
burn victim I was scared but so glad to have a friend
who cared about me and maybe I should have a kid
whose limbs would shake and cry but I’d hug
and kiss him he’d reach his arms out and maybe fling
a smile right back at me
It’s cheating, I tell my nine-year-old nephew.
You can’t go to the Meadowlands to root for the Giants
and also hope the other team’s wide receiver scores
touchdowns cause he’s the top player
on your fantasy team. You have to be all in.
You can’t cushion your feelings. Your team
falls, you fall too. He declines this advice
from his gray-haired uncle. He’s having too much fun.
I don’t tell him how easy it is to highwire
my heart in sports, how hard in love.
Anthony Cappo received his M.F.A in creative writing from Sarah Lawrence College. His poetry has been published in Connotation Press – An Online Artifact, Lyre Lyre, The Boiler Journal, VIA: Voices in Italian Americana, and other journals. Although he’s lived in New York City for 18 years, he grew up in Cherry Hill, N.J., and remains forever loyal to the Phillies.