National Poetry Month Day 7: Ruben Quesada

SLC PUNK!

The last time we parted, I looked past you
as snow banked along the curb. Patches of sidewalk
glowing brightly, and a wide hunk of clouds hovered above
like the unfinished background of a painting. In the distance

your unbuttoned smile, your blue jeans stirring an electric storm
with its yellow seams sizzling down your thighs. Last night as we lay
in bed, we talked about one-night stands we’d had. You told me
about the time in Salt Lake City where you spent a night in a sling, high

on heroin, and a line of married men waiting their turn to be inside you.
The smell of the fireplace filling your nose is what you remember most.
Beyond the window, mountains blanched with snow. You slowly fade
behind a sugar maple, branches like scarecrows waving goodbye.

***
Author photo courtesy of author