Scott Schwalenberg

from Parka Walking

don’t you see how old

I am

the blood moon

is house sitting 

space

you’re straightening a frame

I’m looking for a career

what millennials don’t have 

we embroider the road

for three-ish years

sliding back and forth

like abacus beads

have you heard the one

about the promiscuous intern

nevermind

I can’t tell it right

but it ends in Arizona

if you say Nebraska

you have to add in a mob

of blackened trees standing

like martyrs 

raking at the clouds 

and a mare in the remuda 

shouldering her numbered days

oh and

maybe even a farmer armed

with a rifle

either way

it’s so good

over my shoulder Parka

you’re as good as dawn

spitting your curses 

against the dark

like your Tourette’s is acting up

from Parka Walking

in the future

I trip over a fence

and come up with handfuls of grass

and recognize

the kind of place

that’d play with dead things

standing over me

March addresses 

gospels

with a panache for timeliness 

semis burst by

with bandoliers

across their chests

and my per diem is proportional

to the sun 

which is warm

and the bald earth won’t stop 

revolving around it

even though it’s on the edge 

of the galaxy

for itself

smelting warheads 

while looking for reasons

to throw it all away

how long will we shoot 

rockets at the sky

only to have the exploding sky

return them

it’s time to eat

yes Parka

I can hear you

Scott Schwalenberg is an editor for HOUSEGUEST Magazine, an online literary journal. His poems were most recently published in Interruptureand Front Porch Journal. His first book, This Is the Fireplace, Eleanoris forthcoming from Octopus Books in fall of 2019.He lives in Nebraska where he teaches English and creative writing.