1.
Sometimes when a jazz cymbal
is played with a brush—
a steady soft roll—
I hear those rainy streets,
the cars I shoved you against,
kissing you into place.
I can hear them coming for us,
rolling across the wet asphalt.
Our shirts as skin, soaked tight.
We both hate poems that mention jazz,
which is okay, because jazz hates us.
We kiss like jazz hates us.

2.
You’re not scared of living,
you’re not scared of love,
you’re not scared of money, sex or the truth,
but there’s never enough.

3.
You said life is as short and confusing as a small, angry dog.
It can tell when you’re afraid of it. If you open your hand towards it
and it snaps for blood
it is correct to punch it hard in the neck.

4.
Walk to the grocery store and play “Find the worst shampoo smell.”
“Find the least sexiest peanut butter.”
“Find the in store announcement microphone
and see who can quote hip-hop lyrics the longest
using manager voice.”
Buy a month’s worth of paper plates.
Try to not let grief be as easy as pajamas all day.

5.
In the cupboard I find corn silk powder.
When I am bored, I sprinkle some out on the floor and Bing Crosby
in my socks.
It makes me miss the skin on the insides of your legs.

6.
You found a sledgehammer in the garage.
Someone with a sledgehammer loves me.
I rejoiced like Berlin.
We invented a game called Find Two Things to Smash.
We played it every night. Whoever found the most “I should’ve
smashed that a long time ago” thing,
doesn’t have to clean up. You want me to write you a book of these sounds.
Here.

7.
The kind of love that matters is
walking into the China shop with a 2x4 and waiting for the nervous
clerk to say, “…can I help you?”
Then saying, “No, but I can help you.”

8.
When your chest is heavy and full of colorful medals from the day,
I’ll have beers and bath waiting.
If we don’t have a bath, I’ll find our biggest bowl.

9.
A horsewhip snaps—the sound barrier is broken. Even the laws of
nature, even us.

10.
The poetry class taught me to start strong, end strong.
I am supposed to write down the greatest thing about you,
that I could imagine about you.
We ordered pizza.
We told our friends we couldn’t meet up.
There were cherries and bourbon sauce in the fridge.
You dragged our mattress into the living room.


Turned out all the lights.
Watched an actor try too hard.
The phone didn’t ring.
The commercials were funny.
I ran my fingernails down your arm.
We forgot napkins.
Studied the way windows make you look at them
instead of out them
when rain gives in.

Nothing was on.
Nothing is on.

from Strange Light, Our Long Low Nights, Derrick C Brown