Friday, December 5, 2014

Donald Paris- Three Poems

To the Cashier I See Every Tuesday

You always say “let's run away to Mexico.”

The letters rattle off your glossed lips
like pellets in the chamber of an air rifle.

My smile always snaps, when I take my change.
My fingertips brush against your ring finger
and feel your wedding band, the gold washer,
that stops us both from leaking.

Mermaid Seen on Shore

I was beach bound,
watching ghost crabs claw
out of sand, sides of sand dunes
steel pots boiling them alive.
My feet bled, juiced against
fissured rocks, I stood
where crushed shells met water,
waiting for anyone to see me.
When I tried to breathe
with the ocean, moonlit waves
eroded me to foam,
as I drifted to sea.

Testing My Eyes at Night

Residential roads
make seeing at night easy,
with painted houses
like tiny moons
refusing to retire
for the night.

Dashboard needles
stretch across numbers
like a catcher's arms
going for wild pitches
as my foot presses the gas.

Caught in a tight turn,
I cut off my headlights so my eyes
can explore the dark outlines
of concrete barricades
and faded speed limit signs.

I want the shadows to leave
no room for light,to be in complete
darkness, but the mocking orange
rays of street lamps ahead
saturate my windshield.

Rolling up to a traffic light,
engine in idle,
the light's red glow taunts me.
I flick my foot
to tweak the throttle.

BIO: Donald Paris is currently studying poetry in Queens University of Charlotte's MFA program.  His work has appeared in The Camel Saloon and Split Ink Poetry.

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