11 May 2010 | Vol. 10, No. 1
nothing better to do
the other night, i waited up
while the living room burned to ash.
i recalled the way a concussion feels
and how changes brand us.
the cushions on the couch smeared and singed when
i sat down, but this was hardly an interruption.
it was two in the morning
and you were drunk.
the walk home and the people
who sat outside the café
laughing sharply as needle-tips, their clothes wrinkled
the man on the corner bench twiddled
a straw between his teeth and the night.
when i sat down tonight, i moved the t.v.
right back in front of the fireplace and plugged myself
into it: the city is covered in aluminum foil.
people warn us everyday
about some undoing, some putting in
what will eventually come out, as though
we are not ourselves.
as though some other self is filling in,
waiting up however long.
About the author:
Cade Collum is the author of two chapbooks titled The Dogs of Havana (Red Hydra Press, 2008) and Lion-Froth Crown (Red Hydra Press, forthcoming). His poems have also appeared or are forthcoming in Vulcan and Ginosko. He received a B.A. in Psychology and an M.F.A. in Creative Writing from the University of Alabama in Tuscaloosa, where he is currently living and working as a full-time Instructor.