3 poems by Jon Bennett

Watching Women Through the Donut Shop Window

I think about being alone

too long

and why I am and one

of the reasons

is chocolate old fashioneds

and one of the reasons must be

that I find any entertainment

in writing poetry in donut shops at 3 am

or 2 am

when the bars let out

and the women

walk on by


Old Doorways

I live at the top of a hill

that looks down

on the Financial District,

sterile steel and glass,

ugly the way words like

“iPad” and “Facebook” are ugly.

I don’t live in the Financial District, though.

I live in Chinatown.

It’s full of ancient doorways in hidden alleys.

The thing about old doorways is

they hold mystery

even if there’s no mystery

behind them.

Toilet Cleaner

“I clean toilets,” I tell her,

“but it’s not part of my job,

I do it by choice.”

She takes this very seriously,

it’s symbolic of my

general economic undernourishment.

She has read the writings of Buddha

1,000 times, a million books that say

“carry the water, chop the wood.”

She has taken the words

to the drycleaner,

had their meaning stripped and flattened.

I feel surrounded by “her” here,

surrounded, outgunned,

and outclassed.


Published by

Jeremiah Walton

Jeremiah Walton is wary of writing a bio.

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