Hugh Simmons (he/him) is a social worker who lives in Austin, Texas with his hilarious husband Neal and equally hilarious son Jeremiah. Hugh believes in tenacious antifascism and is a strong supporter of transgender rights. His work has appeared in The Galway Review, Pinhole Poetry, Stanchion Magazine, Stone of Madness Press, Full House Literary, and elsewhere. He can be found on Bluesky @kyalo.bsky.social
Cereal with Nuts
I like to eat cereal with nuts. Sometimes
the nuts get stuck in my gums. I work
my tongue to get them out but they don’t
come out. God damn nuts! I retreat
to the bathroom to floss. Nut bits
plip in the sink, milk droplets spatter
the mirror. It can look as if I’ve sprayed
fake Christmas snow. The point is, no one
knows any of this except for my husband
and I don’t know how he lives with me.
Second Grade
I don’t have many memories from that time
so now it seems like I was in a coma. I
do recall my father’s roses out front
and our TV being black and white. Mrs.
Maxwell said I’d destroyed school property
by drawing on a classroom wall. She
had us all ring cowbells for some class event
and put me in a dress, and laughed.
Mars Suit
I’d do OK in a Mars suit
despite the stink of my upper lip
itch in my pits, regolith stuck to my boots
and Mars-scape all around me
red and dead. To keep myself company
I might scratch my name on a rock
or hum a tune.
After that I’m not sure
since Mars doesn’t have a lot to offer.
There are robots. I could follow one
as it poked around
dust devils spinning up
to turn my suit red. When that happened
I might think, You’re like a rose
and feel worthy, perhaps finding the courage
to accept the peace I’d made
in my dusty fabrication of rubber, or sack
with oxygen on my back, doing A-OK
in a Mars suit.
Motorcycles are Dangerous
I bought a 1200cc Harley.
The salesman asked
if I knew how to ride. I said,
“We’ll see!” We laughed
and he made the sale.
While it was being readied
he told me his wife abandoned him.
“She was mean,” he said, sounding mislaid.
I liked him but couldn’t really know
why his wife left. It’s possible
he was a mess.
I ride my bike on weekends now
sometimes after a spat.
I always check my 360.
Motorcycles are dangerous.
People
At a cafe I sat next to a guy
eating a sandwich. He had coffee and a book, maybe
a book of poems. He ate while reading, went, ‘mmmm’
and ‘mmm hmmm’. Was it
the sandwich? The book? (I think the book.) A woman was there,
her sun-hat on the table. She had
coffee and a notepad. The man with the sandwich,
the woman with the notepad smiled,
sipped their coffees simultaneously. I had no coffee, sandwich
or hat so I felt forlorn. Presently
the man went, ‘mmmm mmmmm, MMMM!’
while the woman laughed at something hilarious
she just wrote. I felt happy in this moment. Books,
coffee, hats (and poems)
are wonderful. People are even better.
The Galway Review 