Order this writing in the collection book we the Poets available for only $1395 |
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Order this writing in the collection book Life on the Edge this huge volume is available for only $2395 |
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This appears in a pre-2010 issue
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One and Only
Deborah M. Olley
Television voices screeching,
a stringy mop leaning in the yellow bucket, drowning in soap scum,
and an intercom, scratchily paging.
That scruffy dog in the yard next door,
its coat the color of a Creamsicle.
It howls, the sound so regular it’s lost meaning.
A dim bar, with a single urinal behind the wooden door,
the vomit smells like that first unwrapped piece of turkey,
improbably pink, too perfectly oblate.
Someone last took the book off the shelf in 1979,
the tops of the pages never bent into corners,
no mustard stains, no Oreo-and-milk spills either.
There’s a single sock on the beach at low tide, child-sized,
tiny red roses underneath the lace ankle trim,
the condom wrapper nearby, once blue, is faded.
The restaurant is crowded, full,
and he sits in a back booth,
his Oxford shirt, spilled burgundy, blending into the vinyl.