Poetry |

“Screenshot”

Screenshot

 

 

She said in a very real sense

letting go and holding on

 

can’t be distinguished in the dark.

The fact that certain words

 

were chosen with all due diligence

doesn’t mean others couldn’t

 

have worked just as good.

You learn a lot at a dragstrip!

 

My last few wisps of faith

are history, and sorry not sorry

 

I knew it was coming when

grown-ass adults gathered at dusk

 

in the cul-de-sac to break down

cardboard boxes. I was late

 

to call bullshit, and over the next

few years, despite rising seas

 

and lowkey productive

peace talks, we mostly stayed

 

put, while others were just

getting started, bouncing around

 

every which way but up. No harm

no foul. She said to hold on

 

and loaned me most of her logins.

The peculiar tones and contours

 

of my loneliness failed to find

an audience, so we planned to return

 

the rental car and stick to the original

intention of settling down

 

with a conservative interpretation

of the fourth movement

 

to feature, you guessed it, clarinet.

That oughta fry some bacon.

 

She said take your trouble over there.

Then she went over there.

 

To keep my trouble company?

This was specifically in the TV room

 

which always looked so fancy to us.

A genuine popcorn machine!

 

Uncle Chip kept a stoic octopus

under a purple lamp

 

and puffed on Kools. At home

we may have lacked commodities

 

but we were dumb enough

to understand radical individualism

 

was a movement doomed

to be boring forever and ever.

 

Men came to repossess the sofas

not long after that. I for one

 

appreciated the clarity. Come back

in a week or so, once you’ve made

 

some friends. Suction offers a similar

pleasure, and it’s no wonder

 

so many pick it up in the course

of their studies. She said

 

can you take two steps to the left

to block my view

 

of the moon, I’ve seen more

than enough of her lately, I suppose

 

she’d say the same of me, stuff

like that. About a half dozen bats

 

wheeled above the streetlight

which seemed to track

 

given the context, but at the last

second I remembered

 

just because you can imagine something

that doesn’t make it true.

 

Like no matter how old a book gets

it’ll never be a good listener.

 

I was glad our former teachers

weren’t around to see us chewing

 

on that. She had tools you could

use, but only in a dream, when really

 

it’s a challenge we need to address

as a planet. Sucks to be you.

 

Let’s skip the full soup and fish

and see if we can get away

 

with feathers and a fake ID.

A few of the very least among us

 

might identify, or even

overcome adversity, and I want you

 

to meet Ariel’s group before they

get too tired to invent

 

more trouble for us. Yes, seriously.

Why would I butter you up

 

when this dump is literally hiring

randos off the street?

 

She said from now on she wanted

her nickname to be “Smiley”

 

and we had to explain it’s not

like the before times, you don’t choose

 

your own nickname, burglars

break in to give you things, nurses

 

saunter along the corridors, a few

eggs last a month. Most animals

 

will admit they don’t know

what they don’t know, and that’s how

 

you steer clear of the rocks. She said

OK sue me, but it boils down to

 

one bad decision in the river. So smug

we had evaded the curse

 

we had coming, when it would have been

better to lie down and take it

 

hot and dirty, after the malady’s aspects

had slowed to a stop. You’ll have

 

that dang baby, I know it in my bones.

I saw it following protocol

 

in the screenshot, and autumn

has admitted everything, and even if we turn

 

back on the tarmac as the mist

rolls in, it’s still dead easy to forget

 

how cringe the evening’s been.

Contributor
Joel Brouwer

Joel Brouwer is the author of four poetry collections, most recently Off Message (Four Way Books, 2016). New poems are forthcoming in Barrow Street, Bennington Review, Copper Nickel, Michigan Quarterly and others. He teaches creative writing and criticism at the University of Alabama.

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