Our poem of the week comes from Joel Moskowitz, an artist and retired picture framer. He’s had poems published in J Journal, Whiskey Island Magazine, and Muddy River Review. You can also find Joel’s work in our Winter 2013 issue.
MEN DISCUSS WAX,
WAXING, AND THE LOST WAX TECHNIQUE
By Joel Moskowitz
We don’t eat wax on purpose as do larvae of the Wax Moth
but a modicum of waxy rind goes down with our hard cheese
and it travels through our systems, where the translucent
particles combine, turning
into malleable seahorses. We melt our honeycombs,
mesmerize women by burning candles at parties,
uncork old bottles of sherry, cracking that blob of red sealing
the top, squeeze medicinal drops into our ears when alone,
to soften the stuff in there, with warm water flush,
then hear children singing. Our names fly on the wind,
our dogs whimper in the cold to come in, to sit by our feet
on floorboards we buffed to bowling alley luster.
We make reliable lovers, draw with crayons
when the moon waxes.
We die, decay from within,
leaving an imprint of our manhood in the sand.