Jennifer Lagier- Three Poems

Empty

 

He used to take time

to hide the dead soldiers

before I got home,

mixed alcohol

with oxycodone,

marijuana, cocaine.

Didn’t want to hear

lectures about his liver,

drunken tumbles,

missed work days.

Now he doesn’t bother

to camouflage the vodka bottle

with bags of frozen vegetables,

too hard to find

after a handful of norcos,

two or three bottles of wine.

By midnight,

he’s unresponsive,

video games blaring,

booze spilled on the carpet.

I check respiration, pulse,

my heart on empty,

wonder whether to

celebrate liberation

or dial 911.

 

 

Hammer Time

 

Tonight you are volatile,

pound yourself into me

as if I am an enemy

you need to vanquish.

 

Screaming, you throw

a computer mouse across the room,

slam the t.v. remote

against my glass table.

 

You take another bong hit,

pour more shots of Crown Royal,

scowl, dare anyone

to incur your displeasure.

 

I remember my father once told me:

if your only tool is a hammer,

then every problem looks like a nail

you want to batter.

 

 

On the Town

 

The barrista at Fermentations

shows me the sixteen stitches

over her eyebrow, tells me

how the local physician’s assistant

sewed her up for only $35.

She promises an introduction,

my insurance against

future tanked-up disasters,

says when I move here,

we’ll be best buds forever.

 

At Mozzi’s, old drunken hippies

play rotation pool.

Nailed to the ceiling,

a wagon wheel light, signs

from bankrupt local businesses.

Over-the-hill sluts shriek,

expose more side boob

than necessary,

take up all the bar stools.

 

A bright yellow poster

hangs on the door:

Guys: No Shirt-No Service

Gals: No Shirt-Free Drinks

This is my kingdom;

these are my people.

 

 

 

Brief Bio:

Jennifer Lagier loves Friday night tequila shooters with all the dead snakes she has encountered in myriad bars.