Three Favorite Poems

Saturday Night
Dan Feuerbach

Self-server uploadedinto a shoot-'em-up worldof ogres, escaped demons,missed class this month
for the third timesixteen, twenty-six, thirty-six hour
dance passed,
wordless, in the blink
of a square-eyed bitch-boxmaggots writhedin garbage by the bedand became the fliesaround his head,the scale tilted, loweredeyes fried like motherboardsduring the all-night gigabytelock-in, locked-up self-serverpaused long enough to noticethe fast-food-wrapper carpetand finally bite into the apple
of codependent roller coasters,unzipping to the messageof teenage beautyor middle-age lies.


The Ex-Girlfriend
Dan Feuerbach

I still want her. I must be stupid. My stomach carriedJack Daniels and Keystone. She filled her lungs
with hash. Her eyes were bloodshot. Each horizontalsurface was covered with empty beer cans;
the smell of marijuana invaded my nostrils and primalurges surfaced. She wrapped her arms around my neck.My pants became restrictive. I wanted her. Her whitestockings went up to the middle of her thighs; her skirtbarely hid her thong. She was wearing boots like girlsthat star in porn Guys had been looking at her all night,girls wanted her dead. She knew it, she loved it. We whisperedslurred desires to each other, positions, and when it wouldhappen. She ran her hand down my chest. She wanted to smoke.She wanted her purse. She wanted my keys. She took
them away as soon as they were out of my pocket. She walkedthrough the crowd and I talked with friends about how difficultshe was to resist…for twenty minutes. My brother
came in and looked at me. The frown on his face
told me something was wrong. I called her twice
and got her voicemail. I pushed aside friends, acquaintances
and strangers. I got outside and found two black marks going south.
I kicked a rock as hard as I could. If only it had been her.
I went inside and tell my friends.She came back then. I had the munchies she said. I didn’tthink you would mind since you’re so drunk. She threw my keysat me and walked back into the house.




It’s Not Fair
Dan Feuerbach

One month—chatting families, polishedpigs, joyful screams, the FerrisWheel—the Nebraska State Fair Grounds.Next month—
the 4-Hleaves,the animals becomemeals—
an empty wasteland.
Last month—
buildings sat like tombstones,surrounded byemptyparking lots covered in ice—
nobody visited.
Tomorrow—
horse stalls fill withrotting leaves. Patient anddesperatepale lights shine
on forgotten pavement.