» Poetry


At the diner, I sit with Freud

open on the table before me.


It’s rude to say clueless, but

clueless, the waiter won’t let


me sit with my book and coffee

half-filled. He brims it. Chimes,


A velociraptor stubbed its foot.

Pauses. Now it’s dino-sore.


I’m bored of Freud, it’s true,

but not bored enough to flirt


with you, I think, but don’t say.

Ha. Can I have my check?


which he brings with his number,

You’ll want to keep that receipt.


Freud on the sooty bus, I can

say that I have made many


beginnings and thrown out

many suggestions. The receipt


stuck between two pages,

bookmarking desire and lack.


D. Gilson

D. Gilson is the author of the forthcoming essay collection Incarnate: Notes from an Evangelical Boyhood(University of Georgia, 2020) and the cultural memoir Boyfriends(New York University, 2019). His other books include Jesus Freak (Bloomsbury, 2018), with Will Stockton, I Will Say This Exactly One Time: Essays (Sibling Rivalry, 2015), Brit Lit (Sibling Rivalry, 2013), and Catch & Release (2012), winner of the Robin Becker Prize. An assistant professor of English at Texas Tech University, his work has appeared in The Indiana Review, POETRY, and The Rumpus.