by Robert Peters

about the author: Robert Peters was a great friend and champion of the Review. He led the second Writers' Retreat sponsored by the Review for a few consecutive years in the 1980s which took place at Phil's cabin in northern Wisconsin. This is from a long, hilarious series of poems about Robert Mitchum. -gcb


Sweet Macho Nothings

When I make love to Mitchum
I wear my lineman's belt
and say "Dude," "Bohunk," and "Mack,"
in bass voice.

I insert my thumbs into my belt
and stride that fragrant asshole walk
strode so well by mechanics and cowboys.
I arrange my tools one by one -
the clawhammer, the phillips screw driver,
the stapler . . . an abstract Mitchum on the pearly sheets!
A couple of bolts for nipples.
a link of silver chain for a penis.

I chant sweet macho nothings
into the coupling-wrench
and grind my wet body over the cold
rasp, in ecstasy. I pinch my testes
with a pliers: "Mitchum. Mitchum. Mitchum."