we call ourselves lobsters
(the roaches of the sea)
battling anxiety’s frigid wind
against mossy rocks
(BREATHE)
just kidding.
but we do drink moonshine
a Cleveland IPA
a glass of mortality
foaming
(originally published in Ygdrasil, Winter 2021)
Month: August 2024
Halloween, 2019
Now that I live on a well-traveled
street, you’d think I’d pass candy on
the designated day. I was at
Shady Grove for the first hour.
The servers were vampires,
I was wearing a poncho.
The lights were off (how I like it)
when I got home, not a soul in sight.
And it was trash night. So I gathered
the usual garbage and recycling,
set it by the door. And when I opened
it a kid vaporized from nowhere
chanting trick or treat! trick or treat!
give me something good to eat!
Staring at me carrying white
marinara-stained bag and a baby
blue bag in the darkness
of the porch and I said,
I don’t have anything,
thank you– I mean, sorry.
In my navy sweatpants
I walked briskly to the curb,
the wind wanting to push me
toward the black gravel of the road
but I swiveled the direction
of home. A gaggle of swan tweens
flew toward me! I covered my face,
put my head down, walked up the blind
trio of stairs far from the rustling
footsteps and laughter and wind
and turned the living room light off,
shawled myself with the couch blanket
and reached for a crinkling half-bag
of factory favorites, a Milky Way
or Kit-Kat somewhere on my rug.
(originally published in Sparks of Calliope, Fall 2022)
Condado Beach / Condado Tacos
Your sister gets engaged at Condado Beach.
You and I– when it happens– are in the middle
of another meal, paper boats of combo soft/hard-
shell concoctions at Condado Tacos, and when she calls
us later, at The Abbey, we joke I should have proposed
before Mark did tonight, when I stuffed-mouth called it!
that they would get engaged in Puerto Rico, that I should
have wrapped your ring finger in tortilla and professed
my love, of course, in a dramatic drunken offering at the
corner of a bar, of which we have done a thousand times,
but not here, to do it first, with nostalgia borne from
our presence at a small chain founded in the city
our story began. But when we lived in Columbus
we were lukewarm upon Condado’s now-sacred
offerings until it felt like homesickness brought
deus ex machina and a Condado was constructed
a couple blocks away in Lawrenceville. There,
our lust for long-ago brought us back and again.
We feasted through soft and lean times and almost
threw white flags of surrender at each other. This
time, at the bottom of our split-check receipts, we
saw an opportunity to join their rewards program.
This is how we sign our own lifetime commitment.
(originally published in Winamop, Winter 2020)
OK Google
is your volume at two
what
is
my mouth my tongue
a computer can’t play stupid
what
is
a bad
sign like your tongue itching
let me ask again
tongue itchiness cannabis
I think you want to play it again
what
should I be worried
(originally published in Spinozablue, Fall 2022)