YOU WON'T BE SEEING ME AGAIN
A whiff of dry shampoo in the air tonight.
Clouds have been appropriated for a C+
avant-garde piece. Lenin’s Tomb yawns—
he’s had enough of R.E.M. I loosen my tie
like we’re not here, like at any second
some idiot will double dip in the nacho volcano.
The swing does what it was built for
and so do I. I hold my right leg behind
my back, then my left. I sign a document
bequeathing the names of my future pets
to you. I spritz my glasses with cleaner
and use the expensive French cloth.
You drop pins in the sloth ashtray, one
by one. “Hang in there, baby” is written
on the bottom, clear as a vodka ice cube.
NATE LOGAN's recent reviews and work can be found in Diagram, Forklift, Ohio, and Ninth Letter. He’s the editor of Spooky Girlfriend Press and a Ph.D. candidate in Creative Writing at the University of North Texas.