Neon lights make him antsy: / My boyfriend’s
getting impatient / And each time I throw
another person / Into the pits, / Two square, /
Two round, It takes time for them to fall. This
makes things worse.
There is water, and horses, and other nice
things / At the bottom of each pit, except for
one. / That one’s just concrete. / I’m not sure
which / It is.
“The lights are loud.” His hands are in his
pockets / He adjusts his glasses. There’s a
clutch / Laying at the rim of one pit, / A square one,
and I can hear the lady who owned it
petting a horse / Below. / I feel strong: I want
to grind a cigarette / Under my heel, / But
we’re indoors and / He’s an asthmatic / And
he’s been dealing with my shit all day. I’ll give it a rest,
/ No more tourists. We were always
here to see Negative Megalith #5 anyhow.
Noam Hessler is a poet from New England. Hessler’s work has been published in Apocalypse Confidential, BRUISER, and DON’T SUBMIT. They are currently a student at Vassar College, and can be found on twitter at @poetryaccnt1518.
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