Saturday, July 27, 2013

Jennifer Lagier- Three Poems

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.

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