You Don’t Just Go Around Punching People…
Remember that scene with Bruce Willis?
When he finally fucks the girl he’s been seducing
the entire movie
then leans back, all cool and shirtless
against the headboard
and lights up right there in her bed?
Last night, my girlfriend admitted she’d smoked
in bed after sex.
It wasn’t with me. All I could think about
was Bruce Willis…
Transcription of a Doctor’s Appointment
I slept through work today
to shake a fever and this television hemorrhoid.
I was prescribed anti-anxiety pills,
having kept my arms folded at the doctor’s:
a defensive posture
against accusations, downsizing, ejaculation,
suicide, and knives.
Friday Night Binge
Along the wall of the Lamprey River Mill,
sand bags desiccate. The half-octagonal shape
of the dam has controlled the river’s black crest.
At home, I watch gangster movies.
Sunlight leaks into window-shaped squares
on the carpet, and the cat stalks sparrow-shadows.
Like an informant found floating in the Hudson,
I’m pale, bloated in the belly, and my mouth
gapes. Although some roads
have re-opened, I stay inside, clinging
to restraint’s last dry rock. The smell of rain
is on the air again, and I’m all out of favors.
Martin Elwell currently lives on the New Hampshire seacoast and daydreams of hitting the road in an RV. He spends his free time running, hiking, reading and writing. Martin received his MFA from Lesley University in 2008. His poems have appeared in Specs Journal, Evening Street Review, Third Wednesday and Convergence Journal. You can also find him here.