This afternoon, the mail carrier brought me the Birmingham Poetry Review (two copies, actually). I’m delighted to be in this magazine with Erica Dawson, Claudia Emerson, Carrie Jerrell, John Poch, David Kirby, Chad Davidson, and many other fine writers. I have two poems in the issue, and this is one of them:
Connecticut Avenue The buildings are not tall but tall enough to block the sun and so today can end How it began—in a milky shadow. The 42 has passed through Farragut. past the hotel famous for its Madam. That cupcake shop? It’s all the rage until the next. Dupont embassies surround the simple lust of strangers, coiffed and cocktailed. That man there. Do I know him? Too late. We’re past. It’s all the past.