David Scronce is the author of the chapbook Letters to Liam.
His work has appeared in 5AM, Bennington Review, The Chaffin
Journal, Cloud View Poets, Confrontation, Hayden's Ferry Review,
modern words, The Portland Review, The Queen City Review,
Review/Revue, RHINO, RUNES, Salamander, Sierra Nevada Review,
Squaw Valley Review, and online at Four and Twenty, PoetryBay.com,
Quad-stretched khaki on the stairs,
A farewell kiss before we met,
A finger in an orifice
For an afternoon of wet,
The Kentucky Fried argument,
A secondhand bracelet set,
Nude back view as he plunged toward spume--
Things I don't forget.
I've learned to say
since who would want a pansy orchid?
It over lords the dining room,
splaying its juicy red bloom
like the anus of some fabulous ape in estrous.
Pansy, from the French pensée,
who found their flower faces thoughtful.
Nothing Saves Us
When I was thirteen, my Aunt Mavis
Took me to a revival meeting.
We sat in the balcony,
Staring down on the whitest
Sinners in North Carolina.
There must have been some stain in me.
Dropping to the altar,
I took Jesus.
I mow her summer grass,
Mavis brings a glass of tea.
"I want to be an evangelist."
"Wait a few years, we'll see."
Gods soon walked among us,
I was skinny, with buck teeth.
Maybe braces, maybe Charles Atlas.
Things that can't be helped,
Things we try to change.
She said she had a cup of pain,
could carry it.
Back to Front.