Issue 7 | Summer 2010

The Jolly Tinker

I build a rocket from beer bottles

and rose petals – light the fuse – almost explode

to the stratosphere – sputter out

freefall – fireball

into the Bronx on a 100° day

when the streets smell like hot

garbage in a stew

of falafel; subway screeches

are the upholstery needle

fingers of a lover scraping down

my back:

into a bar stool where everything

is dim and Captain Jack plays

on repeat.  Staring down

a glass of whiskey, wiping away

the sweat after each sip

checking my phone every five

minutes that slide across the floor

like a lover frictionless from sweat

Filed under: Poetry