Three Poems
Spencer Troxell


Old men bathing
Nipples sagging
Pubes, matting.

Steam rising
Eyes drooping
Moustache, white.

Toes inspected
Fingers pruning
Teeth soaking.

Pubes, matting
Unseen but felt

Book pages yellowing
Toilets flushing
Antacids dissolving.

Country music playing
Synapses firing
Eyes unfocused.

Hands over face,
Moisture from brow,
Balls sagging.

Liver spots widening
Balls sagging,
Pubes, dripping.

America is singing,
Children are frowning,
Old Men are bathing.



A piece of jewelry on a nude
Accentuates the nakedness,
Like the heavy smell of smoke on your jacket
Reminds us you are lonely.

Smoking in bowling alleys,
Coffee splashing against teeth
Like time-dried papyrus.

You breathe smoke into the receiver
With no one on the other end,
And you tap your cigarettes on the pool table,
Purposeful, thoughtful, fingertips chalky blue;
Quickening the onset of death.



The seaweed says hang on slow down.
The apple sky spits seeds they ripple.

Aluminum cans fade this is where they end up.
The person tossing them off the overpass could never have known.

In his mind this might just be a roadside convenience.
In his mind maybe it's the end of the earth.

My oars say hang on not so fast.
My blinking eyes say it's getting late.

Some day when this is all highway I'll need wheels on the bottom
And maybe a hook at the end of my paddle

So my people might find me if they wanted to
Follow my scraping scratching footprint with pitchforks into the city.


Click here to read the rest of issue 78

About the Author
Spencer Troxell lives in Cincinnati with his wife and kids. He attends college at the University of Cincinnati and works at an undisclosed location within the city. You can keep up with him here, at his sporadically kept up blog: . He's 24.

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