JT Welsch

 

 

 

Reverse Aubade

 

Next you’ll be saying the effect

of rain-flow on a house is our own

fluidity, those unheard percolations.

But the old gods weren’t stupid.

If my body’s a temple or whatever,

no light at the door reaches the relics.

The new shit makes martyrs of us all.

 

At the alarm, as your struthious

lashes kick in sleep, swatting in vain

at another girl’s name on my arm,

it’s all I can do not to reach out

for the nail-scissors and bring you

back among mortals, where no one

really wants to hear about your dream.

 

When you crawled in from another

graveyard at the coalface and mentioned

Bin Laden died, the name rang a bell,

but I couldn’t think what. I assumed

you’d take care of it. If you died,

I’d annoy everybody with my grief.

You’d be like the love of my life.

 

 

JT Welsch lectures in creative writing and literature at York St John University. His poems have appeared in Boston Review, Stand, Manchester Review, Cake, and the pamphlets, Orchids (Salt 2010), Orchestra & Chorus (Holdfire 2012), and Waterloo (Like This 2012).

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