Hammer

by Aidan Bernales

Smirnoff piss in the face of Jesus Christ

Leapt over in our pursuit of rundown rooms

That bear no windows. We know to winnow

The sheets upon the kiss of the lock and the key

Or kiss our bedbug-bitten end. Ah, this city!

Graffiti litanies line its fences. How they beckon me,

Like the early-morning tsupers or those nocturnal

Prostitutes who whistle for you. Birdsongs, I call them.

And you’re quite raring to bargain, aren’t you?

Strike up a conversation with the divot made

By the old lady who’s always here. We’re too shy

To get to know her, but we imagine what ancient

Wisdom hides behind her promiscuity. If any.

We shelter in fantasies that stretch immortally.

Cross these streets with nerve and confidence.

We’ll never die. You and I.

My blinkless city.

Hammer the light.