we walked a horseshoe through the Strip
ginger whiskey coffee whiskey honey whiskey apple whiskey
no matter what I always see this brand-new city
slamming glasses into a blue-skied table
what’s passed around we finish swiftly
while friends attempt to maintain some order
never too early to rush into a burger order
time being what it is
we consume all we can
(originally published in DREICH Magazine, Fall 2023)
after inflatables
and Friday night I went to the House
after making fun of King
Kong with the brothers
Dance Marathon we first talked
then went to Pizza King with Dabs
accepted oxygen in my water as trees
dead napkins we returned to Constitution
played sober via HORSE
with bottle and recycle bin
earlier I helped Gary with the Poker Mixer
it was either the cheesy bread
or Gatorade that got me
we went to Walgreen’s for beef jerky
along the way we stopped at Sara’s for Orloff
at Fisher’s for refried beans
(originally published in Literary Forest, Fall 2022)
Doesn’t matter how much dark red
wine you drink, the clock always
ticks westward to the setting sun,
the city lights flickering on when
lips are dry and winter recesses
so blackbirds can meander across
the morning’s bluegray sky then
perch along powerlines to watch
as you walk to your car this warm
January morning, beads for eyes
everywhere
(originally published in The Academy of the Heart and Mind, Fall 2020)
Dog through the window– charcoal snow
and peanut-speckle brushstrokes– I watch you
served by our server on the patio under
Azorean’s white umbrella. If only I could be
of service to a creature so brown-eyed and sacred.
I want to be good, too, and melt the heart of people
I encounter. But I am out of it– I still feel new here
and spend my workweeks isolated and curious
for the world I miss around me, its strangers
a wild pack wandering the streets, searching
for any scent that spells joy. How mine smells of cinnamon
blocked by endless windows overlooking a sea of blue
recycling trucks inside a sharp metal fence, and– even now–
I peer through glass, smelting, as our server rubs your head,
as passers-by smile as they go wherever they must go.
I want to be unleashed, too– to put both knees on
concrete, pet the fur between your ears, and
inhale, together, Saturday’s shared freedom.
(originally published in Hello America, Fall 2019)