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A Poem: Fat Man and Little Boy

rain

FAT MAN AND LITTLE BOY
(After Marcus Cafagña’s “Roman Fever”)
A poem by Abel Folgar

.1.

This was no honeymoon, no way,
not in this humid heat
of wet crushed bodies
tilting this bar.
Overtown and Parkwest
and Wynwood blur by like snapping limbs.

I fall back into somebody,
a move that began with
a friend’s description of
Japan’s demise,
detonating slowly in pulses
while I stand sweaty and oblivious.

I want to save the moment
from the ATM receipts
I won’t remember tomorrow
that will pile up like Miami’s
congested and afflicted
skyline.

I turn to a dashing face,
glittered and vacant
whilst clutching a hand strap,
broken by strobe and bass,
bumped and ground, this awkward
stop, a tiny kiss.

This moment will unfold,
wrinkles smoothed by warm hand
and the constellations of those
who continue passing behind me
denying the narcissistic thoughts
the drink keeps generating.

This sad moment
I will bless with jizm
that’ll continue to parch
the summer of its flowers and glaze
that these little rains
won’t wash it away.

.2.

I don’t know if I want cruelty
in my life but I had to leave you

in the patio, shrieking after me
through a curtain of light rain,

your voice muffling and plunging
to drunken helplessness

I ignored while walking to the bar
with your credit card and ID.

Your voice hung in that patio,
gilded and applied, sweet and wet,

framed by multi-colored LEDs,
faux bamboo, soggy cushions;

magnetic like a muted sorrow
a slippery memory will reshape.

But memory’s a sleight of hand,
a conjured trick, an opportunity

to replace fact with wishful thinking
while I push my way back to you.

.3.

Back at my place the staircase
became a problem, dark and
banister-less, the textured
wallpaper a prickly guide
to my bedroom, where drunken
semaphore drew itself out,
willing to be subtle to the
backdrop of nuclear observation.

Under my dying light bulb,
my ear still ringing from
Miami’s nightlife, our fingers
twisting into each other

to this rhythm of mattress,
the rain still light and persistent;
smelling your skin, a fog,
your mouth full, my hand on your back.

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