Sunday, May 30, 2021

homesick by Brian J. Alvarado

hitched a belated carpool, 
escaping the city yet again,
this time to suck down some fireballs
and drawl my carelessly wistful way 
through a forgettable homecoming,
no longer concerned with losing you
in the foam again, for I missed the
hodgepodge awful in complete, still
waking up inevitably in your bed,
ahead of my only friends left 
to graduate from Xanzibar,
burping up synthetic cinnamon
and smog from a voided core,
registering an unholy jolt behind 
the wrong ear, as it rubbed up 
against an imperfect circle on a
bargain zebra-striped bandana,
and recalling nothing but where
that straggling cowboy killer had
overstayed its earnest welcome, a
premonition of a homesick mourn.




Brian J. Alvarado is a Puerto-Haitian Bronxite with pieces published or forthcoming in Squawk Back, Trouvaille, Alien Buddha, Beliveau Review, Cajun Mutt, and The Quiver Review, among others. He holds a B.A. in Creative Writing from Susquehanna University.


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