the dirt has my footprints
to thank for the company it keeps,
harvest the days, seed the nights,
stones I throw over my shoulder
hearing voices, I take out my crowbar
and pry open the parked car trunk,
but not a soul escapes, nothing there
except for a laminated dine-in menu
stamped with its fair share of coffee cup stains.
against a sun-blanched wall,
trash is emptying more trash
into the middle of a murder of crows,
black, bellicose, cawing and pecking at each other,
vying for dinner rolls that sit on top of brown grass.
after a shower I’m dripping on the bedsheets,
listening to muffled blares of a TV
two doors down, tuned to either canned laughter
or congealed joy of a game contestant who won back
the cost of her plane ticket
Hue of dusk, shade of rot,
paints the lone canoe even redder, leaving
mosquito larvae gently bobbing in its wake.
Small birds on stilts patrol the cove
and appear to be missing the darting bugs
they peck away at. Birds don’t know it yet,
but bugs are more plentiful than birds.
Breeze ruffles a tuft of moss sitting on top
a submerged boulder. Don’t speak to it ―
paddle around it. The greenish water is cold.
Stick your hand in and minnows arrive to nibble.
Kevin Minh Allen was born Nguyễn Đức Minh on December 5, 1973 near Sài Gòn, Vietnam to a Vietnamese mother and American father who remain unknown to him. He was adopted by a couple from Rochester, NY and grew up in Webster, NY with his two younger sisters. In 2000, he moved to Seattle, WA to pursue a life less ordinary. Kevin has had his poetry published in numerous print and online publications, such as Aileron, HazMat Literary Review, Chrysanthemum, and Eye To The Telescope. Kevin’s first collection of poetry, My Proud Sacrifice¸ was published by Goldfish Press in July 2014.