wet gunpowder

you borrow the car
mapquest her new house
drive for two days
and two nights
living on french fries
crossing statelines
not knowing exactly what you doing
not knowing what you looking for

you'd love not to be on this old buick
but drive a delorean instead
and go not to her house
but fly to the not so old times
when both of you were happy
(not so very much she would later admit)

there are no visions
no fuel for scribbling notes
wet gunpowder leaves a poet with no option

you stop at arby's
puke in the ladies room
get a token of southern hospitality
and your ass kicked

now you are definitely lost
now it's time to go home
was there any place to call like that
now you see your face on the stained mirror
and your eyes are yellow
your gums receding
your belly bloated

wet gunpowder makes the poet go mad
after the horrific confirmation
of history repeating itself endelessly

you borrow the car
mapquest her new house
drive for two days
not knowing exactly what you doing
not knowing what you looking for

you borrow the car


daniel bennett (Washington, DC, 1979)

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dog days

the air was stew: hot, thick, oily.
my spirit stymied; i was boiling
in my own juices.
i need a bathing suit
and a free pool pass

my old trunks rendered unsuitable,
to say the least,
my pride abashed
after the shortlived stint

so i peddle and paddle
up and down mount pleasant
to face the ultimate horror
of the thrift shop

all else looks pale in comparison,
heat advisory, asbestos warning,
terror alert: orange; this soul, dry;
i got the trunks

now i only need a free pass
but i am told i have to be somehow disabled
to get one;
this is not my winning streak

it don't help to be adrift
in the dog days of summer,
stranded, lost and dry;
i may be loosing it now

so i peddle and paddle again
and finally make it,
a crowded pool,
the ultimate relief, a splash

one skinny girl smiles, i smile;
my trunks don't fit very well, i'm exhausted happy.
there is hope, is there any?
a splash


daniel bennett (Washington, DC, 1979)

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to a girl i just saw on the bus and fell deeply in love with but probably won't see ever again

a sudden full stop woke me up
but i was more beshaken by your eyes
green and vast
like the oceans of my childhood
clear yet mysterious all the way

you were listening to who knows what
on your obviously counterfeit ipod
i just couldn't help staring
at your genuine, striking beauty

your black black hair tied with a red band
the stained and battered beige coat
tiny silvery strings on your multicolor scarf
a chupa chups in the side pocket of your backpack

there you were
standing with your educated middle-class dignity
crushed between strangers at rush hour
on a proudly refurbished metrobus

then it happened
the elusive instant our eyes crossed
a fraction of a second
just a little fraction

but you got off
looking somewhat bothered
ran into someone you probably didn't know very well
and disappeared in the crowd


daniel bennett (Washington, DC, 1979)

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