During the First Storm of the Season, Sam Used Q-Tips to Remove the Starving Robins From His Ears

He had to get the music out.
And sometimes you have to let it happen
especially if you give a shit about someone.

But I didn’t expect us to build a snowman
and then pour red wine all over it.

Sam said it would make the bar stoop
look a little prettier. He wasn’t wrong
but I think it was more about how sobriety
murders a part of you.

When the National Guard tanks
came rolling down the block, we cried
and then we sang.

While I Was Walking by My Old Elementary School, a Junkie Complimented My Sunglasses

I thanked him, and he started singing
“Here Comes the Sun.” He didn't have
a beautiful voice, but I told him otherwise.
Then I saw a skunk running toward
the church and almost getting hit by a car.
I, too, understand the feeling of hoping God
can remove the stench from a soul, a hope
so desperate you would do just about anything.

The Shadow Person Said That All the Dogs in Roswell Bark at Nothing, Yet It Still Sounds Like Music

After 2,000 miles of driving, this made
sense to us. The country is weird
beautiful and ugly all at the same time.
If border patrol doesn’t get you
the ghosts will. Somewhere along
this sleepless journey, we followed
a group of St. Francis statues
to a hot spring and skinny-dipped
in snowmelt. It is too easy to mistake
desperate noise for prayer.  





Justin Karcher is a Best of the Net- and Pushcart-nominated poet and playwright from Buffalo. He is the author of several books, including Tailgating at the Gates of Hell (Ghost City Press, 2015). Recent playwriting credits include The Birth of Santa (American Repertory Theater of WNY) and “The Buffalo Bills Need Our Help” (Alleyway Theatre).

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