“Prep” & “Poem Left in the Car” by Thomas Pescatore

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


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.