Benjamin S. Grossberg

SOMETIMES WHEN I’M SPLAYED OUT IN DESPAIR

he creeps, my sly octopus,
behind the couch and—
a kind of dumbshow—raises
his tentacles over back of it:
slightly bent in at the tips,
they become people, heads
down, holding their coats
closed, rushing home in
pelting rain. One trudges
from one direction, another
from the other, and they
stop—pause—behold—
and straighten. And (since
his timing is so wonderful)
I see it all in their sucker-
faces: the shocked recognition
of two who know each other
—or once did—even as
the hunched figures of other
tentacle-people rush past
(at varying speeds). It’s you,
one seems to say, a sucker
widening in an O of surprise.
Yes, yes, the other nods.
How long since…. Ptown—
the plague years? We sipped
Lambrusco, made love
in a dark alley, and you
wept, swearing you’d come
for me. Then his squishy
head rises above the back
of the couch, his bulging eyes,
to see me sitting up, hands
clasped, breathless for his
tentacles to rush together, for
the tips to entwine in a kiss.

BENJAMIN S. GROSSBERG is the author of My Husband Would (University of Tampa, 2020), winner of the Connecticut Book Award. He also wrote the novel, The Spring before Obergefell (University of Nebraska, 2024), which was selected by Percival Everett for the AWP’s James Alan McPherson Prize.