Simeon Berry
from Fingerling Lakes

Club

 

The scuffed graffiti’d space

reeks like a vampire’s armpit

 

amaretto sweated out

into powdered velvet

 

but we drove

two hours to get here

 

and my third

 

woozy screwdriver

only cost $3

 

The frontman

has too pretty a chin

 

to be singing

about a river of puke

 

but Jay loves the band’s zine

 

its rants about spigots

of insurance blood

 

and suburban husbands

cinching their ties

 

around the necks

of their blown-out wives

 

But his parents

are gentle

 

and always lay out

whole-grain crackers

 

and the orange camouflage

of Colby Jack

 

He jostles against

the other shaven people

 

in the pit

 

and lurches near a petite girl

 

with a razor cut

 

that makes her look

unfinished

 

He spends more time

ripping his jeans

 

than wondering why

I like rhombuses more

 

than parallelograms

 

I want a comfy

shirt that smells like

 

my 4th grade rabbit

 

For Mom to focus

on something other

 

than Biblical antagonists

 

I’d like Dad to stop

worshiping the angry

 

grass astronauts

hitting each

 

other every

Sunday afternoon

 

To come back

from the 7th dimension

 

of weak beer

and shadowy bankers

 

The spasming bassist

is giving me a headache

 

and the acid

in the orange juice

 

stings where I bit my tongue

 

The nine-minute song

bleeds into ten