RECRUDESCENCE

by William M. Peaster

Boris showed me in—some hippy chic café
we sat, looked around

someone in the corner with an eye-patch on
said the sun’s cut in half

the corner laughed
the formless mute monster arrives without arriving,
they said

only quicklimed eyes can see it
dear dear god believe it

what the fuck, Boris groaned
I just laughed

he asked me
how I’d been (over a cigarette, of course)

I need a good back lashing
I need better work

docs told me I’m losing feeling in my skin,
don’t know why

Tinder’s been great,
though the orgasms are getting weaker

and, at that, we cheered espressos
for some reason

before he started going on about
how he’d just caught his wife with someone else

he stubbed his cigarette out
and shrugged, smiling

shit man;
I love that fucking bitch

at that moment
a demon, Abaddon,
and an angel, St. Michael,
entered that café

their arms linked
their strides in perfect unison
the same exact grin on their faces

the clock on the wall exploded
and all mortals froze
except the one with the eye-patch …

she stood up, pulled back a mask,
revealing herself

as none other than
Pandora, hideously cute

no jar within her hands
come to bear witness

come to bear

or something
like that

Note: You can find "Recrudescence" and 150 other similar poems in my recently published volume of poems, Phantastikon. You can also read my last post on Steemit here.