OLIVER BROOKS (he/they) is a trans poet and MFA student at Florida State University. His work appears or is forthcoming in Cream City Review, Honey Literary, the Texas Review, 3Elements Literary Review, Full House Literary, and elsewhere. His creative nonfiction was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2023. He also serves as Poetry Editor for the Southeast Review.

Like oiling up your hairless cat every week,
           sitting quietly through Sunday dinner
                                                                         with Uncle Gary,
                       or changing anyone’s bedpan, ever—

love’s labors come in discrete & regular forms,

like dusting the taxidermy barred owl
            in the parlor    every Saturday
                         with a feather duster
                                      because your folks told you so

or your grandfather hiding candy bars
             in the cavity
                          of his prosthetic leg for you

& always moseying on over       languid as a Holstein
                         to say bleshoo after every sneeze—

back against the weekend                it’s tripping over parking curbs
                          while tossing pigskins                      in the grocery store parking lot
             after mopping floors past midnight

just as much as it’s dressing up        as a Weeki Wachee mermaid
                          to con a buck off a tourist
                                        pawning dignity for something giftable—

tattooing the Lorax        along the length of your left leg
              to show the trees of the world             you care

& whistling you getta line & I’ll getta pole
            while you wade your way      to the crawdad hole
                        even when the stream goes dry

& along the eroding beaches scouting out
            the best hotels            for pool hopping
                          to keep us away          from the ones
            with gators lurking in the deep ends—

it takes believing in
                         like supposing      a giant electromagnet
             on the outskirts of Tallahassee                  secretly repels
                                        the grayest rainy days

& it takes holding fast
            like Spanish moss            all taupe & tangled
                       when the branch breaks from the tree
                                    but doesn’t touch        the ground—

driving to the lake,        love comes sneaking up
           like it’s whispering,          Objects in mirror
                                                                          are closer than they appear.
  

Volume 15.2  ✧  Summer 25

Oliver Brooks

Love's Labors

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