Aperçus Quarterly 2.1

ExpletivesThere are plenty of words to describethe prostitute who loosens my right caninewith a single, well-placed hookas I kneel beside her on the sidewalkone rainy Tuesday in Mayto see if she is breathing.Featherweight isn’t one of them.Neither is angel,except in the most earthly sense of that word,nor any of the garden variety expletivesmore suited to careening down a flight of stairsor smashing one’s thumb with a hammer.And I don’t need a single onewhen the medics return to the firehouse that nightand slapheadedly relay her name, Princess,to the rest of us sitting around our slabof green Formica,filthy from the afternoon’s workand cutting hungrily into steaksso perfectly rare,they call for an astonishing red,something heavy with forest floorbalanced by notes of apple or citrusand just the slightest hint of mangled pride.16