Keith Higginbotham

3 poems


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What He Did

The TV was off
and on the coffee pot

slipped out the drive up
in the long shower, shaved

and put on flowers, assumed
he’d slept in the phone.

Exhausted another three weeks
at home, out the window, into

and out of seem, cynical, a big
big trouble, rock music bed, dark

streets of difference. The belt
buckle bloodshot black tarp face

of the motel across the seat
drew up beside him and settled

into the shade of his shirt and jeans
behind his blue-eyed voice.


**


Madonna of the Cul De Sac


she stole up the
house of teeth
of a lost family
collecting herself
in shorthand

outside, a swimming pool
crashed into
the fireplace –
a liberal smash

strings of birds
roared up
the circular driveway
of a cadet branch
fallen into
poverty

she said society
was not a guest
on her eyebrow
of cigarette smoke

and she abandoned
typing on a small
silver tray


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Suggest a Title


the burden of wonder
across a screen
circumspect, knows
a skeleton town.

it is but a pure
frontier, not really
into being. neither of
these names never
existed, the opposite was.

any other more
would explain invented
times, galaxy of the
still who.


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return to sawbuck 5.1

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Keith Higginbotham's poetry has recently appeared in ditch, Eratio, O Sweet Flowery Roses, and Otoliths. His chapbooks are Carrying the Air on a Stick (The Runaway Spoon Press) and Prosaic Suburban Commercial (Eratio Editions). Visit his blog at http://ihaveproofthatsomeofthisiscorrect.blogspot.com/