Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Thirty-eight
Summer 2015
 
Recalling Last Night’s Torment
Alejandro Escudé

The rulebook does not include peanuts.
It does include wanting to be alone.
It does not include wanting to be outside
and alone. We forged it with our teaching.
It isn’t ridiculous to want to be spoken to well.
For those that are rude, there’s a space in hell.
I am for the night traces of anonymous satellites.
Once it’s gone, it’s gone. There’s only one thing
left to say, but you shouldn’t say it. The silence
lingers long enough to be misunderstood.
I bought three alligator heads to bring back
as presents. The neighbors apologized
for their dogs’ late night barking, they said they’d
be watching the dogs only for a little while.
The dogs didn’t go away. The barking
increased. Whew! She didn’t mean it.
Or did she, my nurse, a blue heron wading
on the shores of retirement. I like the cubic yard
the way it is. There is a whisper, there it is again!
I do not understand. Oh how the mighty have fallen.
I do not understand. But the mighty don’t fall,
That’s why they are mighty. The jokes
about her huge ass ensued. How would you like
to be booed, as you enter the ice skating rink,
as you brush your teeth, as you write out
a shopping list, as you toast to a new year,
as you flirt back and risk losing it all.

About Alejandro Escudé

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