viernes, enero 23, 2009

New Poetry From Andrew Dotson


Too many times I’ve lied

Lied to you, to myself

On your futon sprawled like an open sparrow

That moment you saw me at the back of the bus

Hunched into line

Expecting nothing

You remarked about my gold watch

And I winced.

You were far apart

Yet so near

To me at the terminal

Where we debussed

Rambling in aimless effort

Entering a cool bistro amid a sweltering wave

You couldn’t afford to foot my terms

So we left to find a better plane.

It was there that things began

At that mahogany table

In the Hotel Congress

Wared through the ages

Serving countless customers

Through flappers, to corporates

To vagrants – you

Offering me a chance to get better acquainted

Sucking marijuana smoke through a tube.

The ultimate resolution

I didn’t go with you that first day

Up to your greasy flat filled with cans

To loll some and let the seriousness fade.

I kept firm, played hard to get

So hard when you called me I went to relent

The next time you spotted me

Sitting in the courtyard

I agreed.

It lasted, then ended

All else my departure

I wanted so much for it

But what?

You to seize me

You to please?

But that was too much to ask for.

Too many times I’ve lied

Lied to you, to myself

Reclined on my spine

In wait for the unexpected to come at last

My comic book geek, my scumboy

That trance…

Andrew Dotson is a 19 year-old poet, songwriter and student currently residing in Arizona. His poetry has appeared previously in Zone.

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