“12/26/21”pastel pink easter egg sky clashes with christmas lights, my three day bender has left me with a headache i walk through the woods to escape this town, i walk through the woods to escape myself cardinals sing their songs while remaining unseen a man fishing from a bridge casts his line out, reels in, casts out, reels in, casts out a brown dog passes by and sniffs my hand the sun sets on all of this i sit on a bench, waiting “12/27/21”it is 12:35pm and blood drips from my nose in the shoprite parking lot, i’m here buying groceries for my girlfriend i find a napkin from the car floor and stop the bleeding—i don’t know how long it’s been there prior to this i was at the post office mailing poetry to america’s lonely it is now 7:30pm and i am at the bar two girls come in and are carded, they are both younger than me i’m 32 years old and i’ve been fucked up the last four days two men in their late fifties talk incessantly about the obscene things they wish to do to these girls they look at me and ask “hey man, what do you think about those fine sluts?” i pay my tab and leave for the exchange i watch a man sweep the sidewalk, sweep all the leaves into the street “12/28/21”a man exhuming two caskets from the denville cemetery pauses to scratch his head and sniff the air it is 47 degrees and beginning to drizzle i eat my tuna club wrap from carvers and watch in curiosity from my car after he tightens the straps on the caskets he drives away i go home and read stacks of poetry magazines sent to me by strangers i’ll never meet i pause to listen to the clock tick, hours pass by and the day is long gone darkness surrounds me, i am alone “12/29/21”driving backroads through december’s foggy hell, i can barely navigate these darkened streets every turn is an impossible voyage, every second a possible end i think of herons and butterflies and ants and sunflowers, all things dead or absent in winter i’ve been running the last 6 days and i’m tired, i’m very tired i return a book to the library and drive around some more before settling on the exchange one beer, one scotch, one beer, one scotch, one beer-- closing time Tohm Bakelas is a social worker in a psychiatric hospital. He was born in New Jersey, resides there, and will die there. His poems have appeared in numerous journals, zines, and online publications. He has published 14 chapbooks and 2 collections. He runs Between Shadows Press.
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