Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Thirty-two
Summer 2013
In Ithaca Once
Adam Deutsch

I left her, barely alive
up in the rental, studying
our physics above the garage,
a BMW sidecar was flipped over
next to that loyal desk I stole
from a university department.

That landlord had his tea, found
a notebook in a top drawer,
called collect, mailed it
beyond confine: California.

All of those tight rope bridges
daring city planning officials
pulled across the gorges
had nothing to do with it.
We just froze like smelt.

And then, that one pizza place
with free delivery through midnight
locked up, the three ovens
all vanished in morning.

About Adam Deutsch

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