cinnamon man

the last time i saw tracy
it was spring & all six feet of him
was sprawled in a pear tree
his brown cinnamon form
barely clothed in snug denim cutoffs.
he was smoking weed
mutilating pear blossoms
showering himself & me
with the shredded white remains.
from the ground i asked him
to climb down
so he could get a secret from me.
he howled like a moon-crazed werewolf;
said he was real busy
at the moment. i knew that.
but it didn't stop my wanting him.
it didn't stop my needing
his wicked knockabout love.
it didn't stop me from nibbling
the mangled blossoms
off his dangling cinnamon feet.
   
--Michael J. Hathaway


Note from Carl Miller Daniels: I first read this poem years ago, and was delighted to read it again in a recent issue of Chiron Review. That's Chiron Review, Issue #125, Spring 2022 -- aka Chiron Review Anthology 1982-1992.  "cinnamon man" also appears in the book Postmarked Home: New and Selected Poems 1979-2019 by Michael Hathaway. Every time I read "cinnamon man", it makes me grin, and smile, and sigh. I love this poem now, and I've loved it ever since I first read it -- and I am grateful for the author's permission to post the poem here on my blogspot blog. Thank you Michael!