Evan Fowler Poems

Your room will be warm, that tiny attic room
with the John and Yoko War Is Over ad from the Tribune,
blue plastic typewriter, touristy Greek fertility charm of straw,
so warm my clothes melt
...

Up the woods behind the Junior High,
way off the road, sure I was unseen,
I knelt in snow to beg for Poetry.
The place was quiet as the youngest green.
...

I am in an airport somewhere Northerly;
students are drinking coffee in small groups
and discussing the odds of our staying overnight.
The building is spacious;someone jokes
...