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Things Quickly Grow Uncomfortable
You never learned
to cook, pretty
much out of spite.
She left you
with pant legs
tucked into boots,
head lowered
against the snow.
There was a moment
when the Bible
seemed real to you,
but it passed.
A thousand excuses
later, you still
never treated her right.
* * *
The Busboy's Lament
Don't snap your fingers
at me, I only see
food with bites taken
out of it
I know she's going
to leave you
by the way
she dropped her fork. |
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Author's Note
Steve Caratzas lives in Hastings-on-Hudson, New York. His poetry has been published online at Unlikely Stories, Can We Have Our Ball Back?, Poetz.com, Surgery of Modern Warfare, The Fifth Street Review, and Unpleasant Event Schedule, and in print in the
tiny and Terra Incognita. He has published two chapbooks: It Will Be a Train (2004) and The Incredulity Tour (2005), and is currently at work on two new collections. He received his MFA in creative writing from The New School. |
