Monday 17 October 2022

Three Poems by Jonathan S Baker



for Duane


I went to a party once

where a guy taught me

how to hold fire

in my palms

and he treated me like

the coolest guy on earth

and after that night

he would send me messages

asking for me to hang out

at cook outs and football games

and I could never find the time

truth be told I wasn't looking for new friends

truth be told I'm not very kind.

So, I always had an excuse

and then eventually I didn't open the messages at all

and then he died

surprising everyone

and so I have a constant notification

for an unopened invite

from a man

who taught me

how to hold fire

in my palms

and just wanted to be my friend.


County Roads


thick smoke rolls from

a loud orange wagon’s windows

as a sap chauffeurs a fiend

pressing young girls too far

through tall rows of corn


angry sheriffs watch

as a punk kid pours til

fields are mudded

to keep his beer

from wetting their lips


stumbling blind drunk

his tractor hauls us back to the ditch

and tows out her car

so I can save face

at least I change the tire


Ed’s Fire


backwards backwoods Ed

spraying fuel on the bonfires

instead of talking to girls

or boys or whatever

never trying to get his wic wet

just standing there staring

flames mirrored on his thick cut glasses

balanced on a face

carved from a log of bologna

giving the fire looks

the way a burning man

might lust after a swimming pool

Jonathan S Baker lives and works in Evansville, Indiana. They are the author of Cock of the Walk (Laughing Ronin Press, 2022), and co-author of Contemplating the End of Insomnia While Inside the Post Modern Mausoleum (EMP Books, 2022).  They are also the co-editor at The Grind Stone, and the editor at Pure Sleeze Press.


1 comment:

  1. Very impressive and moving stuff, Mr. Baker!


Three Poems by Steve Klepetar

Changing So many women turned into trees  or reeds or weeping stones. There was a man bent over a pond  who became a flower. Another died  b...