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
overhead, 
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.

No comments:

Post a Comment

On Tuesday There Was a Point When Bourbon Seemed Like a Good Breakfast Food By jim bourey

That was when morning newscasters started their phony emoting about the cargo ship disaster at the Key Bridge.  The day before, it was more ...