Poem: Kurt Havens

Green fountain.


I interrupt
a bachelorette
afterparty in
the park, all the
women are barefoot
and done laughing.
Wine disguised as
fountain soda.
Imported flowers.
No person has
ever relaxed a river.

Picking sunscreen
from M.’s ears
I listen, tourists
spread rabbit
on crackers and
talk stocks. 2
kids in pajamas
dangling off a
wooden castle
fill me with
pretend arrows.

It is a pleasure to land
and eat mango naked,
to drink seltzer in a
downpour in San Miguel.
Morning fireworks
bleed into a dream.
My bank texts me.
I text back I’m sorry.
Her bun above the crowd.

A high school choir
in the square implodes,
butchering a love song
from a ’90s blockbuster,
they mistranslate “heart” and
storm off. I chase a bird
to the liquor store. I kiss
a chainlink shadow on her thigh.

You need reservations
to see the ruins.
The gardener acts out fire
then leads me to a hose,
he shows me a wasp nest
then points to my heart.
Open a sunroof for her bun!
It holds a silver coin that’s mine.

Another businessman
back home throws
himself to the river.
I turn on a fountain
with a light switch,
it is beautiful and loud,
it slaps itself to drown
out the news.
Kurt Havens lives in Brooklyn.

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