jerome moore


Glockenspiel December 2012 - Poem by jerome moore

shot of Puerto rico
Which calmed me right the first time.
We make it to Buks nobodies eating, they line the bar like christmas
wreath, tinsel and lights.
I order a water that I plan to mix my whiskey in (The fifth which I smuggled in)
and she ordered something off the Mayflower with a dark amber colour.

Two Vegan Burgers (homemade) With lettuce tomato onion and chunky peanut butter.
the greasiest potato fries you could imagine the cook re-using.
just like my water
just like my table
and just like a toilet.

We arrived at the airport at midnight
moving around like gypsies setting up out blankets and camping out until
morning:

Floor washers
memories of Zurich in the wake of Eyjafjallajökull
refugees
cripples
we laugh and dance and slide on our bodies
we even find escalators to get naked under and sleep
the metal clock sounds like a glockenspiel
made of glass, of belts, wooden crocket mallets, giant gum balls
like mousetrap

We felt like prisoners
so we go to the big christmas tree and sleep beneath its bows
cuddling and digging each other to four am

airports remind me of graveyards.

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Poem Edited: Tuesday, February 12, 2013


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