Poetry by J.C. Rodriguez
I sip something cool staring at the concrete moon
it doesn’t move. it doesn’t spin. it doesn’t glow.
you still occupy a small untouched lot in my head
in a little car you left back at home, burning tires
on the surface of this moon, doing donuts on the axis
as you drive infinite eights and circles, the exhaust
breathes a cloudy vortex around me, and I inhale
the residue of what I imagine to be soul – it soothes.
but I cough it out and gag, in refusal. a need to solidify
my own importance in your universe – is why you remain
a smoky satellite in my head’s orbit. or is it because you
keep doing donuts around the moon that encases
my chest and pulls my brain – that I can’t remove you?
About the Poet
J.C. Rodriguez a writer and educator from New York. He spends most of his time thinking about rent, the stars, and regrettable texts – in that order. His work has been previously featured on The Coast and Secret Lovers Small Press, and he is currently working on getting his Masters in Social Work.