One Trick by Vivian Hesse

When I was a little girl
my daddy gave me a gift

no bows, no song, no
"come and sit on my lap"

*smiles*

none of that,
not even an ice cream cake
with a sperm whale on it.

It was a winged (two syllables, please) Pegasus
with a beautiful cornsilk mane
with near perfect teeth
and luminous eyelashes,
with the hot throb of sin
between his legs.

Virile and rolling with taut muscle
his wings made the sound of rock doves
when he exploded into flight

a deep, throaty coo.

My fun lasted for a good while
until winged (again, two syllables, please) Pegasus
broke his left wing on a dark, low flying cloud
that was obese from acid rain retention
hard and distended --
a decrepit lush's liver

then he free-fell furiously
broke his right leg on a cherry blossom tree...

it was Springtime in the almost suburban projects.

Daddy and I took him to the local vet;
an afternoon canceled by sutures, gauze, and morphine.

Poor Pegasus was laid up in the hay
for what seemed like months

searching for his needle, his t.v. i.v. eye;
anything to avoid the pain of a nowhere existence.

Pegasus,

his real name was the nickname of a pro football star
and true crime suspect with some serious knife skills

and he loved suicide blondes;)

quickly became addicted to the morphine
drip after drip, the numb surprise,
the electrostatic, Andrew Bird, rain

couldn't get through the morning without a hot shot
in his droopy buttocks.

Pegasus started looking like Courtney Love
shortly after Kurt bulleted his blue sky;
that certain unbaked, short bus look.

Pegasus' palsied lips began to look
like a fat girl's twat...

her name was Nettie
she was black and nearly beautiful
with her semi-sweet berry.
I went down on her prom night
it wasn't so bad.

Anyway,
we sent grounded Pegasus out to the pasture
where he lazily grazed
we gave him two mainlines daily
the birds helped him with the parasites.

Sometimes the Russian ballerina
would sprint over and visit
she was down on her luck
her pirouettes were at best clumsy
but he loved her,
insisted on performing his one trick
over and over and over again
until the sun turned the sky
a succulent salmon.

Half-winged (please, two syllables) Pegasus'
nose would get a little wet
his eyes a little wet too
whenever she was around.

His veiny cock the size of a
thalidomide baby's arm
would struggle to rise
then fall...

oh, but he sure was horny...

still impossibly secure with his shortcomings.

One day I strolled out to the meadow
and joined them
tasted the Russian dancer's mouth
all clove cigarette and bottom shelf vodka

her cruel mail-order eyes
did a number on me

I fell in love with her lovelessness;
she said she was an actress.

The next day
we walked down to the meadow,
which was green as Chinese jade,
together.

I was carrying my daddy's shotgun,
the Russian whore was carrying a bottle and a bible

you can figure out the rest.




Vivian Hesse wishes she was related to Hermann Hesse. She recently returned to creative writing
after a hiatus precipitated by oeuvre liposuction. She has modeled in exotic locales such as Thailand,
Japan, and S. Jersey.   She is currently hand-stitching a line of her own clothing in cheery Cherry Hill.​