Epilogue

He plays Miles Davis
She can no longer hear
His jazz

His lush sweaters
Ratty
Warm no more

His Art
Worn and
Tattered

The bedroom light
Stays off

The bed empty
The children gone

The grandparents
have died

There is no more
Apple juice
No more
Chimney chips

The dancing
Long ago died

All that remains
Is Claire’s private room

Come to find out
All this time
Cliff really was
Fucking Eunice 

And many more


Munchies

I want a Tom and Jerry tower sandwich
with the Works
Give me some of those
 Fat-ass sausage links
Yeah, I want a fifty-link sausage
stuffed in my mouth link by link
I want to devour a
 super-size drumstick in one bite
Give me one of those pink-frosted
Cakes to lick from my fingers
I‘ll picnic up high
on the roadrunner’s cliff
So high, I actually become the roadrunner
So lifted, I seduce the sexy Mulatto Cat
and it’s good; real good
Only thing is
He keeps hollering suffering succotash
As we fuck

 

 

Alex Ewing's poems have appeared in Juked, The Laughing Dog, Dying Dahlia, Poetry Superhighway, Star 82 Review, Rigorous, The Flypaper Magazine and Vagabonds Anthology of the Mad Ones. She lives in Central Ohio.