Cicadas | Sneaking out at Night | Girls

November trees
were choc-chip
with these early decorations,
evening throbbing
with their clamour
like a hammered thumb.

Green Grocers
in their wetsuit fluros,
Brown Bakers—
dusty as carob—
Black Princes,
ugly, like oversized house-flies
and equally common.

We thought them ripe
for picking: each
parting from its tree
with the sticky reluctance
of a fridge magnet,
the flickering zurrrr
of a handshake buzzer.

For some reason,
they seemed worth owning
so we placed them
in ice cream containers where
they burnt-out faster
than flashlight batteries.

Sneaking out at Night

Easy to steal past the open door of sleeping parents and meet
     each other on an a.m. street;
the vague idea of galaxies above the cover of volty-orange and
     blown continents of cloud;
the kingdom of night divided amongst the three of us.

To look down from the top end of Garden Avenue on the web of
     city lights;
the highway like a sea turned down low.
To hear whatever it was humming beneath the days.

Girls

It was about that time
you began
to notice

the light
of certain windows

Desire’s
small suburb
redrawn

The phone book
weighty
with promises

This ache
was pure and general

The flush,
the glow,
the force-field
that surrounded you.

 

Recent articles by Aidan Coleman.

Prayer is a walk in the park
Anti-valentine

 

 

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