We find after a few weeks
you've been dosing me
so I never get to sleep.
Out the door, I wander
around three or four blocks,
toward the water tower.
I haven't dreamed in weeks,
slipping up corner curbs.
The city keeps the soccer lit,
children must be on teams
but the jerseys are the same colors.
They must know their side by faces.
And that rusting Cadillac is killing
two street spaces. They make red
so much of these gutters' lips.
A Craftman's crawl space grate
is missing. A skunk emerges,
faces me square, pounds at the grass.
This, love, is why I'm breathless
at midnight. I left our entire 'hood
covered in my own wild
sprint to avoid a natural stink.
Adam Deutsch lives in San Diego, teaches college composition and writing, and has work recently or forthcoming in Arsenic Lobster
, Spinning Jenny
, and Mojave River Review
. He is the publisher at Cooper Dillon Books, and has a chapbook from H_NGM_N Books called Carry On
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