Evan Anders

my favorite part of your sadness

 

            we crawl out of our souls to dance marry

                        around the dying mockingbird

 

            god laughs at us while we tend to his roses.

 

            this morning i killed two roaches in the act of sex

                        or was it more than a physical act?

 

            i’ve come to terms with everyone i love dying

                        except for my son.

           

            if prince can die there is no hope for us.

           

            i believe my son is prince reincarnated,

                        i have the proof at home. take my word.

 

            let me read you this poem about a dog

                        that could speak and told dirty jokes.

 

                        stop me if you’ve heard this war

 

            we crack with laughter until cannons go deaf

 

            pain from ann arbor buried in your heart

                        like an olive pit in the shoe

           

            i wish you wouldn’t cover up those scars

                        they are my favorite part of your sadness.

south of france


how many times has weather
been brought to your attention today?


i feel indifferent towards eclipses and blizzards.


most days i talk very little


if i seem rude, it’s a decoy.


please don’t ask me about weather, injustice or my latest
poetry submissions


i don’t understand any of it.


the topic of ones-self bores me


perhaps in ten years


we will stumble upon each-other somewhere in the south
of france.


we will have no great love


no great burden or desire


“isn’t the weather lovely today?” i’ll say


and the conversation will move on.

 
 

Evan Anders brews coffee for mass consumption in Philadelphia. His poems have appeared in Philadelphia Stories, California Quarterly, North Dakota Quarterly, with forthcoming in Drunk Monkeys. He changes diapers and thinks Bob Dylan was best in the eighties.

© Terrible Orange Review 2019.