Pen dream
I dreamt I was a silver pen strangled by
T.S. Eliot / caressed by Pablo Neruda / left
Alone by Philip Levine / dipped in salsa by
Juan Felipe Herrera / stuck between
Terrance Hayes’ lips like his last cigarette
For the night / not once did anyone’s hand
Grip my body / slide it across fresh paper /
Gwendolyn Brooks, mama bear and auntie
Of poets, was the only one who came downstairs
And whispered a promise in my ear / suddenly
The party ended / I woke with a huge headache /
Realized the throbbing was actually in my heart /
That I longed to be an object of desire and, resist
As I might / be smashed like dirt clung to my feet.
About the Author: Alex Z. Salinas lives in San Antonio, Texas. He serves as poetry editor of the San Antonio Review. His debut feature-length book of poems, Warbles, will be released by Hekate Publishing in fall 2019.
More By Alex Z. Salinas:
The Great Thing About Driving With A Crack In Your Windshield
Image Credit: Diego Rivera “Young Man with a Fountain Pen” (1914) Public Domain
As It Ought To Be 