Weekly Poem
ISSN 2291-7942
Vol. 1, no. 7, December 22, 2013
Edited by Kirk Ramdath.

On Exiting the Cogs
by J. Fisher

she was interested
more so in my rye
than any bend
I could apply to fulfill
all those gaps she’d spent
a lifetime digging.
I said, “it’s become obvious
that I prefer to drink
heavily in the twilight
so holding a position
inside the machine
has become
a futile pursuit.”
as she stood to walk off
I felt my wallet gasp
and my eye swabbed
the deep contours of her rear, believing
its watched waddle would be
my last view.
the sharp clink
of the ice she carted back
as it fell into my glass
renewed in me
my ugly suspicion
that I had been an alien all along,
that I just needed a Martian
with compatible parts
to get me thru the nights.
it was a quarter to 4
in the morning.

Biography
J's pieces have appeared from Balzac to Berlin in ezines, indy rags, and
some of the finest trade publications. His first two collections, Death Day
Erection, and bulletin from the low light are available through Frontenac
House. j lives in Chinatown, Victoria, BC.
Previous Poem  |  Index  |  Next Poem
Advertisements
Share on Facebook
HOME
ABOUT
SUBMISSIONS
SUBSCRIBE
CONTACT
STORE
ADVERTISING
Affiliates
International
Friends
LINKS
ISSUES
Canadian
Support this magazine.