Sunday, October 13, 2019

After an Old Town by Chuka Susan Chesney

Wild Turkey binge, 
lost in the shock absorber 
of my brain, I pedaled home  
from the Blind Donkey Bar,
astride my bike, 
waving goodbye

to my friends driving by 
in the nearest one-way
lane. Then I crashed into  
a trash can before spinning
landed with my temple
on the Green St. curb.

My portside ear no longer
heard, splayed
peanut bowled, I was 
tossed by handlebars
beside the debris of jacaranda leaves
where the bittersweet gutter
flowed beneath my jaw. 

I had a concussion, 
friends threw me 
in their car,
curled like an ear, I  
grimaced under stars  
on the scuffed leather seat
over stone deaf rocks
of sweet vermouth sleep.

Wind tunnel spokes
in a Pasadena sky
where my hearing 
was timpanied by
too much bar hopping. 
I woke in the morning,
texted my mom.

She came and carted me 
to Emergency
in the shotgun of her SUV,
my bicycle a pretzel,
granny knotted to a pole.

Chuka Susan Chesney is an artist and a poet. Her poems, art, and/or flash fiction have been published in Peacock Journal, Inklette, New England Review, Compose, Picaroon, and Lummox. Chesney’s paintings and collages have been in exhibitions and galleries across the United States.

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