Carl Newlen

The Unexpected Taste Of Beer At the Edge Of the World

- July 10, 2009, 3:18 pm | Poetry

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On the roof,
twenty bucks and change
in my pocket, the rent past due,
I hold a beer bottle to my face
pulling the coldness in. Across
the street a huge fan spins,
spins slowly in the window, slicing shadows
through the light of a bare-bulbed lamp:
Shu...Shu...Shu...

A partly nude woman
moves from room to room,
sometimes watching me
watching her.

I close my eyes
when I drink--
a satisfying solution
to my problems.

I want to tell her
we could leave here tonight,
sit on a beach by 5 a.m.
before the sun rises behind us,
low clouds all the way to the horizon,
the edge of the world
would seem so near
we could swim over the side.

I drop the bottle out the window,
crashing into jewels for her
on the street 30 feet down.

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