Found Boy Warm night wind, jukebox echoes, a long slow undertongue afterburn of pipe smoke and Tullamore Dew – but there's no second star to be seen, only this thin high overcast and a streetlight gleam off a left-hand ring, so it's a right turn onto my street, straight on to a slip-in-quietly bed, a cubicle too early in the morning.
About the Author: Steve Brisendine lives, works and wrestles with words in Mission, Kansas. His most recent poetry collections are Salt Holds No Secret But This (Spartan Press, 2022) and To Dance with Cassiopeia and Die (Alien Buddha Press, 2022), a “split collaboration” with his former pen name of Stephen Clay Dearborn. His first collection, The Words We Do Not Have (Spartan Press, 2021) was nominated for the Thorpe Menn Literary Excellence Award. He is a two-time finalist for the Derick Burleson Poetry Prize. His work has appeared in Flint Hills Review, Modern Haiku, Connecticut River Review and elsewhere.
Image Credit: Louis Lozowick “City Shapes” (1922) Public domain image courtesy of Artvee
As It Ought To Be 