bald
rock-room,
breathing sand
drenched in
the indifference
to wildfires
there are only two Basque people in Oakland
we’re strangers and spend too much time eating ourselves
our eyes are heavy under our own fantasies
of how to describe green
you don’t need nothing to listen to
music
my grandfather’s favorite red wine
has stained our skin
and
dimly lit restaurants haunt
our little boy dreams
you can fuck all you want
there’s no wine coming from you
little boys in wait of dead parents
you are not strong enough to cry
I love memories only because
they smell like gasoline
little boys
with
gasoline headaches
Header photograph © Asher.
Jacob Fowler is a young poet and elementary school teacher living in Oakland. He graduated from Pitzer College with a BA in English Literature and Psychology. His poems have appeared in Levee Magazine, Ghost City Review, Riggwelter Press, The Otherside Magazine, and others. He has published book reviews in several online blogs.
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