So this is what I think: your apartments
are tented with Oxford shirts on kitchen chairs,
or there are no kitchen chairs.
Women come and go. Together you have
baseball and chanting “Let’s go, Washington!”
over warming shots of Jack. At work,
the water cooler is home. After, a bar
is the water cooler. So much talk.
The bartender clinks glasses and the game
recedes into the distance, as you ask
the girl next to you what a poem is
and will she write you one.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 17, Issue 3.
Diana Smith Bolton is the founding editor of District Lit. Her work has recently appeared in Beltway Poetry Quarterly, Cactus Heart, Coldnoon, Jet Fuel Review, Lines + Stars, and elsewhere.
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