from “Renting”
*
And I’m steadfastly aware that when the big one hits, earth or sea, the landlords will leave us behind, and in checking on their properties will see which of us made it and remind us our rent’s still due, or they’ll find bodies strewn throughout the destroyed complex and thank god they have insurance. Before it hits they’ll tell us our water and power will be shut off as we hold each other in the dark and they book flights.
*
If a stanza is a room do I get to operate in that space freely? Whose stanzas require rent? Someone else writing this poem might write that there are no landlords in stanzas while submitting to Poetry. I’ve done it, too. Someone else writing this poem might write that they don’t need to pay rent in poems and submit to a contest with a $25 dollar entry fee. I’ve done it, too. I begin to draw lines of what I submit to.
*
I walk to the grocery store fielding stares from neighbors with signs in their yards preaching the importance of single family households. I lug my groceries back, being passed by Teslas and realtors putting signs back into their trunks. We stop at a house for sale and see it’s selling for 750k. People work on their cars and add huge extensions to their house. Walking down the street I can see the gulf 1.
1Young Jesus, “Gulf”
Lucas Bailor
Lucas Bailor is from Moreno Valley, California, and is currently an MFA candidate at UC San Diego.
Twitter: @lucasbailor