Coming Light

Abstract

Coming Light Nicholas Friedman (bio) "Grapefruit just isn't the same as living tissue,"he tells me. "Nothing is." So, a sergeant snipsthe leg from a goat (anesthetized, of course)with garden shears, or shoots off half a jaw. I blow the head from my pint to the lacquered table."Some assholes enjoyed it," he says. "I never did,but the cadre says to do it, so you do."He lifts his stout, and a snare of thorny vines goes taut along his arm. "The worst is whena goat wakes up while someone's whistling or wavingits leg like a baton. They'll give it a bumpif it starts twitching, but that should never—" The lightsflare up and fade in a dozen strangers' eyes.It's late. "Shit. Sorry, man. I didn't meanto talk so much." He sinks his muddy beer."Tell me what you got up to in '08." [End Page 57] Nicholas Friedman NICHOLAS FRIEDMAN is the author of Petty Theft, winner of the New Criterion Poetry Prize. He lives with his wife and son in Syracuse. Copyright © 2021 Nicholas Friedman