The ’50s
1 Minute Read Time
Pubs, old friends pop up like detonated safes,
and rivers are really moving but look still,
like old girlfriends. Rides, places to live rent free,
these arrive and change with my moods. I wear a tie
on the bus and divine the secrets of my associates:
This one knows we are not equals, this one cannot
love the actress when her sister is the lovable one.
My typewriter weighs twice as much as a maul,
more after a long day smoking. My dog is under
voice control, but he’s the only one. I chase men
who have usable ideas about truth. I surprise women
who do not clean up their glitter. My own desires
are like prayers I forget to pray, and so life happens
on accident, beginnings crashing into the ends.
Read more from Issue 15.1.
