A Poem by Laura Kolbe

by Mark Bibbins, Editor

Vacation Sonnet
for the Go-Go’s

Get me wrong, find it sad: no trunk but that
which glues my arms, two round pegs in sere holes,
not driving, I need a drink. No trip but
the lost goodbye between foot and footing — 
oh where does the girl of a hundred lists
take a dry crotch and her crawdaddy charm
on holiday? My luck, it’s everything
but party time. Streets cold as a scraped nail,
television’s a tray of raw chicken,
aquiver, colors who the hell ever
wanted to see — gone the ace days of prime
and purse, how spring was once all over me
like a cheap suit, and now roots nose before toes,
my flush abandoner, a drunk punk on skis.

Laura Kolbe studies medicine in Virginia. Her poetry, criticism, and fiction have appeared or are forthcoming in The New Yorker, The Literary Review, and Alaska Quarterly Review.

You will find more poems here. You may contact the editor at [email protected].