two poems
Snickers Commercial
The Marketplace never texts me
before I’m broke. The marketplace sends
only commands. I’m dead broke in the clavicle
of midnight. Dead broke pulsing with
moon flashes. I get paid in relation to what
is dead. The relationship between broke & dead,
it’s complicated, an inch of cloth.
An inch of cloth pulled between now
& the end of my life.
Here I am anyways: a Snickers bar
& pack of Marlboro Reds away from
destitution as the night snowglobes
& takes the face to the precipice
of shatter. The clouds’ purple eyelid
light prophesies & prophesies. The
pallor of the streetlamp is crisis
colored-- ultralight Pall Mall. The
relationship between orange &
purple is my life. My life-- a commercial
for the in between. Here, take this
inch of cloth, here, take this ominous
color, here take this pinch of dusk
spread across the sky for six months.
My life, a set of commands. Iron
Man does not like to be handed things.
Sounds like a billionaire to me.
The market texts me a picture
of the sunset & my dumbass gets
charged $20 to look at the picture
of the same sky that haunts each & every one of my days.
we need to start climbing refrigerators
fascism needs an apocalypse
like the kool aid man needs
a wall like I need a drink
like I need to quit drinking
addiction is a silly simile
since its invention relies
on its comparison’s existence
I’m not saying that under
communism I wouldn’t be
a drunk I’m saying that
under communism it
would be easier not to
drink & I have to say
I haven’t had a drink in
six years feels sometimes
like how politicians will
say how long it’s been
from the last time the
government committed
an atrocity always pointing
toward the next time they’ll
have to make an admission
to a pattern of wrongdoing
as a concession or distraction
from their current wrongdoing
I’m uncertain of the strength
of my body against the weight
of history so I’d like to talk instead
about the persistence of my cat
in insisting I feed her regardless
of the last time she was fed
If I am writing as I am now she
knocks my hand from the page
& the pen out of it & pushes her
head between my hand & the page
& in this way she makes clear
her power over what I’m trying
to produce & though I refuse
to feed her until it’s dinner I still
feed her & honestly some days
I feed her early & honestly I
wonder if she can’t at some
point just climb the fridge &
knock the food bag over
& feed herself & honestly
I’m pretty sure she can
& most of the peace in my
house relies on her not doing
this
what I’m saying is we need
to move past the stage my
cat is in & start climbing
refrigerators but you’re smart
& you knew that already &
even still I’d like to say it again:
we need to start climbing
refrigerators.
Brendan Joyce
Brendan Joyce is the author of Character Limit (2019) and is working on his debut full length Leave Land.
Twitter: @nicetryofficer