Shannon and the Coal Town. by Jason Baldinger

Shannon thinks I’m a Virgo, and says so

she interrupts me, almost done

telling Smalley the Indianapolis story

I’m a cancer and say so

but something in my gesticulations

my garrulous nature leave her unconvinced

Shannon’s a Virgo, she doesn’t care about Indianapolis.

Its Devils Night, we had been upstairs with ghosts

telling ghost stories, listening to ghost stories.

What is there to do when we realize were all ghosts?

She said she couldn’t tell her stories, she would cry

if she told her stories. Shannon tells us her ghost stories

Shannon doesn’t cry

She’s drinking white wine, staring through transparent me

she talks fire signs and Virgo moons not believing herself

she tells stories about Ouija boards and demons

she tells stories about doors closing by themselves

Shannon tell stories of the violence of apparition

Smalley and I want to get back to Indianapolis

Smalley and I can’t hitchhike to Indianapolis

in this haunted bar, on this night changing day

Shannon’s eye contact never wavers

white wine no less full

she’s addicted to cigarettes

we wait for her next cigarette

wanting to be relived of listening

Bartenders and sympathy looks

I ask permission to go to the bathroom

not wanting to leave Smalley alone

with Virgo, with ghost teeth, with piercing eyes

Shannon rambles again about demons

what does schizophrenia look like?

I’m relieved when her eyes lock on Smalley

he asks questions, prolonging supernatural magic

we float uncomfortable above barstools, she’s unfazed

Are we curious for a story with no ending?

Are we seeking stories?

We are full of stories

Shannon talks about Victor, she was in love with Victor

a clear bell of intelligence, mired in mental illness

she wears his ring even though he’s dead

she was upset he didn’t wear his ring even though he’s dead

Last call, praise to Sunday nights bars, early end times

She leaves. Her wine glass doesn’t comprehend

Smalley and I shake our heads

her letters and lack of symmetry carry her out

her coal town burning brightly through its seams

Indianapolis still far from ending

Jason Baldinger is a poet hailing from Pittsburgh and recently finished a stint as writer in residence at the Osage Arts Community. He’s the author of several books, the most recent are This Useless Beauty (Alien Buddha Press), The Ugly Side of the Lake (Night Ballet Press) written with John Dorsey and the chaplet Fumbles Revelations (Grackle and Crow) which are available now. The collection Fragments of a Rainy Season (Six Gallery Press) and the split book with James Benger Little Fires Hiding (Spartan Press) are forthcoming. Recent publications include the Low Ghost Anthology Unconditional Surrender, The Dope Fiend Daily, Outlaw Poetry, Uppagus, Lilliput Review, Rusty Truck, Dirtbag Review, In Between Hangovers, Your One Phone Call, Winedrunk Sidewalk, Anti-Heroin Chic, Nerve Cowboy Concrete Meat Press, Zombie Logic Press, Ramingo’s Porch, Blue Mountain Review, Red Fez, Blue Hour Review and Heartland! Poetry of Love, Solidarity and Resistance. You can hear Jason read poems on recent and forthcoming releases by Theremonster and Sub Pop Recording artist The Gotobeds as well as at jasonbaldinger.bandcamp.com