Harry Hoy

Milk Boy

He knows where to take me.
Past the giant barrels of milk

to the attic where a twin mattress sags
in the corner. It is hot and dry

and this is where he takes
me when his dad is gone

and his mother sells dairy
in the city. If he hesitates

when making change I know to follow.
Silently we go, up the stairs

and when we arrive he spits,
readies himself. When I am inside

the corners of his mouth flick
like a pike resisting the unyielding

reel of the line. I finish discreetly
in my hand and listen to the bleating

of the jersey cows casually grazing.
We return to our sides of the counter

and I watch the cream settle
as he fills each jar to the brim.

Harry Hoy is from Conshohocken, PA. He managed a public library while living in Philadelphia before moving to Carrboro, NC to pursue a Master of Science in Library Science degree at UNC-Chapel Hill. His poems have previously appeared in Barzakh and A&U Magazine.