Two Poems, by J. Bradley
Leaving The Silver City
I’m terrible at painting. You can tell
from the way the bulls-eye shifts
based on her name.
I look for the red flags, burn
the ones I can’t live with, fuck her
on top of the ones I’ll tolerate.
The ending constantly revises itself.
Mondays, she gets bored of my
fingernail biting. Thursdays,
I catch her kissing light poles.
Saturdays, her patience erodes
when for the fiftieth time I’ll fend off
the economic benefits of abandoned
surnames in Vegas.
The good news: not being around
when only one of us can wake up.
Tiny Vessels
I used “I love you” to unthread
your clothing, prepped the walls
to handle the primary color
of your hair.
I presented to my friends
the synonymity of you
with “forever”. My ring finger
pretended to ache.
Study the way your neck
blackened, then yellowed
after my teeth; it matches now
how I feel about your name.
