by Ben Nardolilli
Happy in my tuxedo,
I’m only comfortable when I’m uncomfortable,
thank god it’s a cold harbor April,
no use becoming a man of the dark wet cloth,
stained from the pits with a ring
of brown nosing its way around my neck.
Who cares if I don powder blue and my shoes are white?
apparently everyone else here does,
what was supposed to be informal is now a ball
and everyone is waiting for the waltz to begin.
Now with that waiting comes the fear
of no partner to dance with,
and now everyone is thinking of how they’re getting older,
grinding alone closer to death, I guess
my tuxedo brings the human condition to the yard.
I put my beer down, grab another,
and let the condensation leave a trail on my lapels,
then return to watch the denimed guests
squirm on the wooden benches,
maybe I’ll give everyone a splinter to remember me by.
Early Morning Bomb
Out of bed without a struggle
With the sheets or the cold morning air,
Forgetting to be drowsy too
Now I’m standing in front of the mirror
Wondering why I needed
To get up so quickly on a Saturday
I think of fears that snapped
My eyelids open in an empty room,
Fears from dreams and ordinary time
Then I try to recall
A love that might have ordained me,
Made it right to run right out into the day
No, it must be fear that pushed me
Out until my feet were tingling on the floor,
I have forgotten my all my loves
Ben Nardolilli currently lives in New York City. His work has appeared in Perigee Magazine, Red Fez, Danse Macabre, The 22 Magazine, Quail Bell Magazine, Elimae, fwriction, THEMA, Pear Noir, The Minetta Review, and Yes Poetry. He blogs at mirrorsponge.blogspot.com and is looking to publish a novel.