2 POEMS – Amy Soricelli

All this Broken Love

I didn't tell you how I felt 
when you said those things.
I will tell you now.
Those words are long rides 
on the highway.
Broken sandals. 
A no-fly zone.

Your anger sits on my tongue.
It's a restless bee.
It shakes the walls, 
paints them green.

Once we danced to 
some band, but it was 
only the wine talking.

You were never in love
with her. You told her that 
in a letter.
I found it in that box from 
a sneaker store.
I don't remember you having
sneakers like that.
Only no money for food.

It's okay.
She probably forgot about your eyes.
The way you laugh.
I love you now.
We're stuck here in this place 
so no-one really cares but us.

9:15 Tuesday Night

On College Avenue, Pinky smokes 
pot on the steps.
The smoke is in his sneakers, 
coils a snake up his arm.
He just had words with his brother. 
He left them on a plate burning dark ash
into the air.

Henry told him,
he told him.
Pinky didn't want to hear any of that.

Pinky has new sneakers he planned on
for two weeks before the pandemic.
He piled coins into a mountain,
then watched them fall.
His tats aren't new, but from back in high school
when everything was a dare.

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