Mirror
The face
now jowly.
Turkey neck
cackles as
I speak to the
saints—hoping
they’re kind to my
groping
wane.
Stickley lengths
of
skin now runs
towards
my eyes.
Underneath bags
coloured
red & black,
painted from omens
that lurked
after midnight.
Worry lines,
scattered within
the
cheeks,
accepting
transition of
the inevitable.
I am here now,
ready to postpone
the party.
Wave to the other
no-shows.
Thanked all of you
who looked
at their own glare
Knowing that this
was the time—
to retreat.
View From the
Window
She tried to
straddle
the sidewalk
With the “not
high” effort.
Stumbling--
Brain, crossed
waved onto
Haxan Street.
Filtered.
Looking for
a menial fix…to
help
escape, fifteen
minutes
of fame.
Tattooed,
championed
from long ago
highs
gave courage for
the needle
to colour her body.
Her next
rendezvous
will be sitting on
the sidewalk.
Reaching out her
hand, talking
gibberish. Eyes
bedazzled by
streaming ghost.
Grabbing air,
hoping.
She should be
placed into
someone’s pocket.
Stamped non-existent
on her pliable
forehead.
Lonely at the Pub
(2021—Off the
Wagon after Two Years Sober)
Who are they
over there?
Not in my sphere—
internal fame.
I gaze into my
void at the pub.
Not entitled
enough to
join in the
conversation.
Dan Provost’s poetry has been published both online and in print
since 1993. He is the author of 15
books/chapbooks, including the upcoming Wolf Whistles Behind the Dumpster,
which will be available in late 2022, courtesy of Roadside Press and The Third
of Five, published by Alien Buddha Press.
He has been nominated twice for best of the net and has read his works
throughout the United States. He lives
in Berlin, New Hampshire with his wife, Laura and dog, Bella.
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