Two Poems
by Kevin Bertolero
Doting
We take your father’s boat
out into the Atlantic, shirts off
as we bake in near-October sun.
We drift and list. You say nothing,
look over, close your eyes.
When the clouds come,
your sweat dries and I brush
all the salt from your skin.
How handsome we are
together—for all you see in me
there’s more in you.
Crossing Burlington Ferry
I say nothing as
he reads aloud
the words of a
poet he wants
me to love—as
he does. I do.
Kevin Bertolero is the founder of Ghost City Press and is the editor of & Change, a journal of gay poetry. He earned his MFA at New England College and his poems have appeared in The Cortland Review, Olney Mag, Fourteen Poems, Post Road, Malasaña, and elsewhere. He lives in Portland, ME.