RECRUDESCENCE
by William M. Peaster
Boris showed me in—some hippy chic café
we sat, looked around
someone in the corner with an eye-patch on
said the sun’s cut in half
the corner laughed
the formless mute monster arrives without arriving,
they said
only quicklimed eyes can see it
dear dear god believe it
what the fuck, Boris groaned
I just laughed
he asked me
how I’d been (over a cigarette, of course)
I need a good back lashing
I need better work
docs told me I’m losing feeling in my skin,
don’t know why
Tinder’s been great,
though the orgasms are getting weaker
and, at that, we cheered espressos
for some reason
before he started going on about
how he’d just caught his wife with someone else
he stubbed his cigarette out
and shrugged, smiling
shit man;
I love that fucking bitch
at that moment
a demon, Abaddon,
and an angel, St. Michael,
entered that café
their arms linked
their strides in perfect unison
the same exact grin on their faces
the clock on the wall exploded
and all mortals froze
except the one with the eye-patch …
she stood up, pulled back a mask,
revealing herself
as none other than
Pandora, hideously cute
no jar within her hands
come to bear witness
come to bear
or something
like that
Note: You can find "Recrudescence" and 150 other similar poems in my recently published volume of poems, Phantastikon. You can also read my last post on Steemit here.