Poetry

February 16, 2014      

#Trending by Terry Belew

My ex would send me ads for engagement rings
                                                                              I’ll never afford,
                          models in wedding dresses and tuxedoes
                                    at an exotic resort
                       where the weather is always plain.
The supple curve of the bride’s hip,
            the stubble trimmed with exactness on the groom’s cheek,
That is what romance was to her,
                                                     two mannequins
                         on vacation forever.

I don’t even know what romance is, but it can’t be
                                                                       these constant updates.
                      Some girl I met at a party
                                                just took a long walk,
a best friend from school had twins,
            my brother is sick of women,
                        a guy I worked with
                                                        got shot in the back
                                    over cocaine, someone
is getting married in Hawaii.
           My grandmother is learning to type,
                        my mother changed her relationship status
                                                                                    to single.

            I can never count the photos,
                        selfies at a beach, at school with friends,
alone in lace underwear, or flexing a taut abdomen for show.

I sat in the dark the other night
                                                  our whole block lost power
                        when the transformer, saddled by so many
                                   burdens, went off like a shotgun suicide.

The neighbors stood outside protesting losing their kills streaks,
                        dating site soul mates, or the finale of the reality
                                    series where the last participants
are eliminated, the street illumined with the lights from their cell phones.

About the author:

Terry Belew lives in Springfield, MO and serves as an editorial assistant for Moon City Review. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Tar River Poetry, The Fourth River, Midwestern Gothic, Big River Poetry Review, Poetry Quarterly and Upstart.

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