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by Joseph Lezza
Joseph Lezza is a writer in New York, NY, and he holds an MFA in creative writing from The University of Texas at El Paso. His work has been featured in The Pointed Circle, The Hopper, Stoneboat Literary Journal, Still: The Journal, Fearsome Critters, Rio Grande Review, Cleaning Up Glitter as well as on Thought Catalog. When he’s not writing, he spends his time worrying about why he’s not writing. His website is www.josephlezza.com and you can find him on the socials @lezzdoothis.
All the Broken Men
I’ve never been one for thrift
stores, convalescent homes for threadbare
sentiment, moth-eaten & marinated
in a funk of cedar & decay. I smelled it
on you, there
next to a mossy outcropping of cardigans.
Li’l Cowboy, precious, porcelain
hat tipped, throwing shadow over
quiet eyes, noisy with damage.
Something about you felt
second-hand, marked down emotion
confused for clutter by a buyer unwilling
to see the dollars for the change.
Sniffing around for a better deal
wears out the soul. Aisle by aisle,
dripping indecision, monochrome splatter;
Pollock on linoleum, c. 2009.
Until I return to lay myself, barefoot
finding no settlement, just the memory
of you and the sound of bellsandslidingdoors
as I trace your outline in the dust
beginning to r e e k.
© 2020 West Trade Review
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