Thursday, January 28, 2016

Looking Through a Hole in the Mortar of the Bingo Hall




I see an excited man standing, everyone else sitting,
in the fourth row through the tobacco haze

He looks at his card, finger tracing,
eyes looking up down up down while a
toothless man somewhere in the back lifts
a bottle to his lips

The plastic balls click in the drum like
forgotten change at the laundromat

The man, hand raised, shouts over
four laughing ladies and the room
hushes to hear his case

Sunday, January 10, 2016

A Happy Death by Albert Camus


is sitting there on the table,
a gift from my delicate lover

The title rings like a heckler’s laugh
as we sit teary-eyed across from one another

We talk about the things that will stay with
us like a brand in our sentience

I get up and stare at the door for ten minutes
before turning the knob and closing it gently