A new poem by Orion Foote.

Sober in Civic Square

(for Geoff)

It was one of those tri-syllabic months:
the ones with a stress point
smack in the middle —
harbinger of ochre nights
and good riddance to Irish stews & a hot bath.

You said Tin Nimbus was still on the burner,
and awkward isn’t awkward —
not when spaces breathe the same air.

Just for a second,
I thought we’d nailed it in one;
you all sonic blue & bug eyed
and me as one of Cocteau’s angels
dreaming across the palazzo —

living our lives backwards,
like Benjamin Button
narrating the blink of an eye.