We used to watch cartoons
on saturday mornings
when the string of tin
cans rattling behind the rusty
cars outside was strangely
unironic. We would lie
with our bellies to the carpet,
pressing our faces closer
and closer to the screen
until Batman’s batarang
shocked the tip of our noses.
Maybe that’s why I always
thought the neighbor’s
hedges were green horses.
Imagination was only half
the equation. Now, 10
years later, it seems we’ve
become accustomed to
the dirt roads pulled tight
around our skin. I, for one,
never questioned why
we got grinning masks
for our 18th
birthdays instead of
lottery tickets or cigars.
We were all adorned
with the same
disguise – always one size
too loose. I guess they wanted
our warm breath to suffocate
under their scrubbed skin, bleached
more pale than the lovers
that used to live on the moon.
It’s only now, as I wait for you
on a morning stained by yellow
clouds, that my reflection
swirling in the black coffee
reminds me more of The Joker.
Austin Davis’ poetry has been published widely in literary journals and magazines. Most recently, his work can be found in Pif Magazine, Folded Word, The Poetry Shed, and Spillwords. “The Moon and Her Ocean” was published in 2017 by Fowlpox Press and Austin’s first full length collection, “Cloudy Days, Still Nights” is being released this spring by Moran Press. Check out Austin’s website at https://austindavispoetry.w eebly.com/
In Between Hangovers 