Production Dinner, 2022

I.

  tonight it is free to clink
           glasses with luxury
      at the steakhouse downtown

              my first
                 Manhattan
               since Day One

       I have been
                              red meat squeezed
                                   of all its blood a puddle
        at your recommendation

                on our plates a weight
                       to our long
         day
                  but hey
                                                    a hundred bucks?

     you produced The Hunger
                                                Games

& film’s
                        a hungry hundred days
                                     believing

the dream is not a struggle

II.

                                              trout on dry
                              land among
          the cattle

                              wriggling
                    out the net we lose ourselves
              in work

yet
                           gorge
       on appetizers

          bacon-wrapped around
each other

                    the shrimp
is not taboo
           nor endless
                                 with buttery bread

I can’t end
                              this twelve-hour
               shift

III.

I long to spend
free time free

but you close
your eyes when

you talk to me
like you can’t

bear to sit
at the same table

in the down-
trodden way

I say hey
this could be

my favorite
restaurant

over and over
to no one

(originally published in bluepepper, Spring 2023)

Five-Star Hotel

Starlight is not equal in the petroleum sky.
Homes know the ocean
but not their owners– cliff’s edge.

Striated fireworks stake and fall,
hurriedly carted by fragile marbles.

Oil salts the earth to lust–
a red akin to blood
and romance seen in films,
romanticism violently envisioned
and burrowed for the claw
of the excavator, millionaire muck
gushed from leaking faucets.
The piping is consistent:
the toilets flush twice– to be sure.

These are where the fingerprints mingle
to create their own pulse– voyeur beats.

So fill your tank with Grey Goose.
Drink Utopia first. There is no price
for luxury but the cost in lost days–
my treat.

 

(originally published in altered form in Little River – Issue #4)