True Story
I can’t escape the possibility
I was meant to own a Zamboni
but got stuck with three can openers instead.
Or that I should have kissed your knees
last night when you got home
from being with your friend
who just had her cat killed.
“Switch Plate” by Al Ortolani
The day moves by me, and I’m still
at the same old desk …
Full of It
The moon swallowed the sun in one mouthful;
kept her maw open wide—spit him out full.
On the days she feared he’d devour her,
she fed him sweet treats to keep his snout full.
Paragon
To eat sweet corn straight off
the cob, just shucked—
no one ever told me I could do that, like
no one ever.
What We Leave Behind
My father drank salt water mixed with air
And sacrificed his legs and calloused hands at the altar of the sea,
So that it may split in half to give me the life he had only dreamed of.
At the Reception
Everyone else had gone to dance
around a man and woman lifted on chairs,
into the sky of the future of their love,
when he pushed away his plate, rolled up
his white sleeve, showed me the number
on his arm and rubbed it
as if asking it to grant him
three wishes.