Two Poems by Adam Deutsch

Pre-War

Bicycles stacked in this basement add
up to either eighty dollars in scrap
or a monkey bar obstacle course
to the damn water main, frozen again.

We thrash down lumber steps
for lessons on how to sweep, monkish
below clouds, shingle, gutter weaving
maple saplings, pores of stone,
locust-shells-in-waiting dirt.

There is life within single panes, sitting up
in the front room colored like carnage in a barn.

We had some peace and lucky breaks,
in seeping wind through window seals
that kept the tiny world dry.
Noise carries through space, dust,
with simple grace of a plane holding on,
then letting go of fat man and little boy.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The Center for Personal Growth is Next Door to Cremation Services

Tim brings his wife
to the courtyard
in a stainless steel egg,
reckoning she
could use the air.

I’ve got one–a dash
of friend in a small vase,
and Murphy’s got one too,
sets out a bronze cube
bearing a sunken cross.
He stores it away
near canned pears
in a desk fan box.
His old partner.
A business associate.
An old dog. A doc.

We’re of a people
who keep absence
near. Handy
as duct tape.
The ground
is for a different kind,
with fierce ideas
on remaining whole.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Adam Deutsch Adam Deutsch

Adam Deutsch lives in San Diego, teaches college composition and writing, and has work recently or forthcoming in Coconut, Thrush, Spinning Jenny, and Jelly Bucket. He is the publisher at Cooper Dillon Books.

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  • Duane Esposito

    “The ground / is for a different kind, / with fierce ideas / on remaining whole.” Nice, brother.

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