When I Found Pluto
Jennifer Reeder
Might not be a planet after all, only a comet- of all things, a comet
Lost its tail!, I: shredded the newspaper strip and rip, bunched
It in a ball, threw it out the window, a systemless sphere.
I watched with fierce hopes, mad hopes that it wouldn't
Fall but float in elliptical orbit round my sill like
Charon, the only moon to choose a comet- of all
Things, a comet lost its tail!- to love. It fell,
Though, down and down, and I
Am forced to admit: there may
Be only eight after all.
Saturdays at the Aurora Bar & Grill
Jennifer Reeder
This place isn't like the others. Same cigarette
Butts and water stains and initials sunk into wood.
And there's pool and pinball and they check
Your ID at the door and raise question-marked
Eyebrows coupled with accomplice grins.
But I know he isn't like the others. He's a quiet
Drink in the corner, Clapton strumming low
On the jukebox, Saturday night at the bar
On Main Street in a town with salty water.
He drinks a Corona, slice of lime in its slender
Throat, and sometimes he shoots a round
Of pool, and something about his fingers tinged
Blue, branding sooty prints upon the bar, the silk-
Smooth cue makes the beer in the glass
In my hand ripple, a tawny lake brushed with need.
Maybe if I had a head for subtlety I could slide
Solids into the right corner pocket without looking
Like he disturbs my concentration, anchored a breath
From the tip of my elbow. I tremble when he makes
The jukebox sing, tips the bartender, buys another round
For one. Maybe someday I'll know his name. Maybe
Someday I'll stay home Saturdays, a book and a blanket
And a glass of water, silent, bland, and still.