CL Bledsoe: Hunting Bigfoot

I expected an overcast sky, perfect
for hiding. Maybe you were
wearing one of those sundresses
that stop my breath. Neither
of us knew what we were doing.
I’d walked in the woods before, but not
with purpose. We’d seen videos,
stopped at the Bigfoot museum
in town. The guy who ran it said
bigfoots would stand just out of eyeshot
and throw rocks at the building.
I assumed it was a high school
prank. At the park, the trail was
normal, dry. I remember flushing
turkey hens in Roanoke, tarantulas
in Fayetteville, all of them skittering
away at first sight. We went deeper
until we crossed a bridge and stopped
to watch the water, muddy
and fast, and I made a joke about
something trivial. What if we’d
fallen in? Maybe we already had.
It was hard to tell what was water
and what was mud in those days.
We came to a bench and sat. You
were so cute I wanted
to make love to you right there,
in the grass and ticks, but I didn’t
even hold your hand. We looped
back to the car. It was a mild day,
but I burned for you, unsure if
you were even enjoying yourself.
Your expression, so inscrutable. I just
wanted to be with you behind that smile.

~~

Dinosaur

In the spillway, already drunk as
she always was, she pulled me into
her atmosphere. “I’ve got to teach
you how to kiss,” she said, those
passionless pecks she favored.
So often, when I’m sitting on
my patio or running errands, I see
wincing beauty, and I think
about the long mornings exploring
each other. The gravitas of our
coupling. Just once—no forevermore—
I’d like it to be fun. Go to therapy. Learn
to center yourself in your own body.
I won’t sleep with a drunk woman.
My last girlfriend couldn’t have sex
unless she was. Take me back
to those two weeks, right
at the beginning when I danced
to Operation Ivy in the kitchen making
bacon and pancakes for my daughter.
There is no such thing as deserve, but
I wish I did. If I open my mouth, so much
will spill out. That night, in the amusement
park, you dressed as a dinosaur, take
me back but make it good this time. Be honest.
Be sincere. Be human. Learn to feel love.

~~~~~

Copyright 2025 CL Bledsoe

Raised on a rice and catfish farm in eastern Arkansas, CL Bledsoe is the author of more than thirty books, including the poetry collections Riceland, The Bottle Episode, and his newest, Having a Baby to Save a Marriage, as well as his latest novels If You Love Me, You’ll Kill Eric Pelkey and The Devil and Ricky Dan. Bledsoe lives in northern Virginia with his kid.