After Ben Niespodziany
You demand entry, but the door refuses. So you wave. You stand there smiling like a pyramid of watermelons or hot cakes. No response. So you beg. You plead like a skint horse at the well. Nothing. Then the fire marshal interrupts, smack in the middle of your fiddling the knob. She asks, ‘What’s that smell?’ Now you know what. You go out.
Evan Nicholls [photo credit: Lam Ho] is a poet and collage artist from Virginia. His chapbook of poems and collages, Holy Smokes, is available from Ghost City Press. Find more of his work at enicholls.com.
the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan