Coochy-Coo

You can call me Puppy, or you can call me Sweetybuns.

   You can call me Glasscake, Cromagnonpoops, or Pigeonselter . . .

   You could even just click your tongue twice whenever we

catch eyes—

   ah, from no matter how far away . . .

   but whatever it is you choose to call me (Coochy-Coo would

do)

   know I’ll gut it out,

   and all these names will become uniform, suddenly, under

this dumb excitement always welling up inside me . . .

   That name is mine, yes, more so than my given name,

   because the one I adore gave it to me . . .

   To be named again, correctly this time, with this name I

trick myself into believing I’ve been waiting for all these

years. . .

   (Silly, silly man.)