David Rodriguez




The madness of each morning

chiming nothing, baubles swaying, porch post

                titanium,

cats and catbirds grousing, pills on the counter, light

                 routines

stilled by helicopter throppings, disconnection, leaves

                 stripping.


Fall arrives. On our anniversary,

what the doctor said doesn’t come, and we don’t acknowledge

                  it.

You’re upright as the chimes dance, so we do too; eat milk and

                  pills,

feel our titanium hips grouse. Sway, slow, and still. I’m an

                  arm:


snake-dry, laundry-loose, gravel

and groove…you’re the other, excited fingers, heartbeat

                   thropping,

ready for an old routine. Start with wine you like, recover

                   one

kiss, say a prayer against madness: to hold your precious

                   cheek,


to see: there’s a laugh. There’s a laugh.





David Rodriguez is a writer and teacher based in New Orleans with an MFA from Florida State University. He has previously been published in the New Orleans Review, The Southeast Review, The Sandy River Review, Hawai’i Review, and Jarfly, among other places.