Two Poems by Coco Wilder 

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BACK OF HOUSE

O restaurant of whistlers,
of dead things, do you
 
know how to soft her?
Go small in your animal.
 
Ice its eyes. After you
touched me, I flocked
 
open-winged and silver
to my jackal; she shivered
 
like a radish. Her
paws melt everything.
 
Not you. She and I laugh
and we eat out, we eat out.

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ELVIS AT THREE IS AN ANGEL TO ME

Nailed to the wall
                                                                               cowboy sky, hat
lipped,

eyelashes flying spiders.  He is an angel to me

in the hands of his mother, hands tucked
to the slim jean pocket                                                                   is an
angel to me

sliding from the shower door. Sopping
nape,
                                                   towel wrapped. Pistol in holster.

is an angel to me.                 Coke at the counter.

Him dancing.