Poetry: Selections from Jonathan Hayes



The Palm Tree

Is a crucifix
 
of sorts



Zen

i feel
 
Nothing
 
when
 
i masturbate



I Was Supposed to Die

Watched several episodes of The Last 24 Hours
 
And booked the Union Square hotel room
 
Kissed the wife on the cheek while she lay in bed,
and told her that I loved her before I left for the City
 
Bought so much crack in the Tenderloin
that it was coming out my ass
 
Blew MS13 clouds from the white sheet king size bed
— a narcotic morning marine layer with flowers in the hair
 
Sang myself electric between hits until I got the text
 
From the hotel balcony I looked for my escort down on the street
 
But she knew better
 
Alone, in the carpeted hotel hallway
 
The ominous ice cube machine rattled near the elevator
 
And I didn’t die
 
Not, last night





Jonathan Hayes lives by the San Lorenzo River in Santa Cruz, California. He walks the levee at four a.m. to go to work at Trader Joe's where he brakes down grocery pallets. He is responsible for editing and publishing the small press literary journal Over the Transom for the last twenty-five years. His new book, Ghetto Sunshine, Poems 1997 - 2021, is forthcoming from Poems-For-All.

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