Changer

The summer’s over

and my favorite actress

keeps dying

on screen. The college students

have returned to their games

of pop shot and pitchers

of Coors Light. Tonight

I’m crossing the bridge

and the city is empty

save for the bachelorette parties,

drunk and tinseled,

with a little cocaine.

Their skies are slate gray

and I’m thinking of how

I miss Ruby, encased in fog

in Portland. Surely

at Laurelhurst Park

watching the swans chase 

the tourists, as the roses

pass or fail their identity crises.

Take me to the East side

just one last time,

to La Barbecue or the coffee truck

where sweet Sydney

always adds an extra shot

of espresso.

I think I could be in love 

with her. Like I am 

with stunning Keva,

who carries the pizzas to the tables

at the place by my house.

The summer is over,

and the Instagram models

are putting their paddleboards

back in storage. The young republicans

are leaving Boys State

with a newfound love for Neil Young

and capitalism.

What a time to be alive.

I am trying to get sober

and thankfully,

the days are turning shorter.

I have the next three songs.

The changeover as the leaves turn,

as one band breaks down

and another sets up.

This is all I have, this interstice,

where the chill

soundchecks,

where the rest of my life

mills about,

flirting with beautiful strangers,

all of us

waiting patiently

for the drums to kick in.

---

Eli Karren is a poet and educator from Vermont. His works can be found in swamp pink, At Length, and the Harvard Review.