Possibilities
Yes it’s the moon
or the memory of the moon
or the memory of a neon sign
or the memory of dialing a number
you shouldn’t be dialing drunk and
alone and wondering what you’re doing
maybe it’s the memory of a Laundromat
near the edge of Sunday doom and cancer
and dollar stores and cheap Christmas decorations
and emotions forced from the bowels of a fireplace
maybe it’s silk slippers and candlelit lust
maybe it’s the whirling dizzying daze of
meaningless lightning.
Denouement
Time is too tight
and memory is failing
at Captain John’s Fish and Chips.
Early Sunday
evening
(overcast, October)
an elderly couple
consuming haddock and fries
(the Sunday evening special)
at a Formica table.
What’s that?
asks the man.
I didn’t say anything,
the woman replies.
I thought you said something,
the man explains.
Nope,
the woman shrugs.
How it ends?
Sometimes.
Rainfall
Saturday
evening
in suburbia
and I’m sitting
in a restaurant
and the conversation’s
okay and the food’s
okay and the wine’s
okay and our server’s
pretty hot and I’m
one of six
early middle-aged
suburbanites
at this table
and it’s raining
outside.
Dinner Party Afterthoughts
I just need
some time
alone with a lampshade
or a plane passing
overhead or a tombstone
erected in 1893.
I just need
some time
alone to remember
my best friend
being slapped
across the face
by the owner
of a convenience
store when she caught
him trying to steal a package
of bubble gum
in 1982.
I just need
some time
alone in a sandbox
in a jungle hut
in a float tank
filled with yesterday’s
rain.
Dagger
She invited me
into her bedroom
at one o’clock
in the morning
at the conclusion
of our first date.
It started up—
and then stalled—
when my hand
happened to slide
beneath her pillow.
Don’t be freaked out,
she cautioned,
it’s just for
protection.
I softened.
Mask
Today was not a good day.
I awoke
involuntarily.
Consumed sliced bread
joylessly.
Clothed myself
reluctantly.
Endured public transit
begrudgingly.
Considered homicide
momentarily.
Greeted my office colleagues
cordially.
Edward Anki’s poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in The Feathertale Review, (parenthetical), Qwerty, The Chaffin Journal, Cacti Fur, and others. A chapbook of his poetry, Remote Life, was published by BareBackPress. He has been featured at a number of reading series including the Art Bar Poetry Series, the Boneshaker Reading Series, and Words(on)Stages. Edward is currently engaged in part-time studies to become a psychotherapist. He is a former stand-up comic, bartender, and agonized telemarketer.
