Good morning! We’re taking today as part of the long weekend and we hope you are too. But if you are working or schooling or doing other responsible adulting today then you should take a break (or start your day) with our latest Issue 21 teaser! And if you are extending your break, then you have all the time of the day to read these poems!
These two poems are by Thomas Pescatore, who you can sometimes see wandering along the Walt Whitman bridge or down the sidewalks of Philadelphia’s old Skid Row (unless you’re in Calgary and nowhere near these places that we assume are in the USA, then you can’t find him at all!). Although, if you are in his area, he might have left a poem or two behind to mark his trail. He maintains a poetry blog at: amagicalmistake.blogspot.com
Prep
metal hooks on set tracks
cross hatched beige dividers
wipe your body clean
and air dry
these socks prevent blood clots
they’re white
and the room is cold
it’s time to go
my ass is out and the gown in gray
purple marker masks my knee
the IV is in
blood has dripped
it’ll be an hour that becomes six months
once I sit down
I am no longer mine
I am the white walls
the anesthetic
the knife
induced sleep.
The poem left in the car
like a neon scarecrow
hanging on a road closed sign,
opposite a pond,
a flock of geese descend,
the road’s cracked rocks and gristle,
the pond stagnant and low,
in number the geese land silent splash in the sun
scarecrow hangs his head and groans.
