Justin Petropoulos is recent graduate of Indiana University’s MFA program.  He currently lives in New York where he longs to be hired for almost anything.  His poems have recently appeared in Borderlands and Gulf Coast.

we sit by the water fashioning toy boats from empty ration tins. absorbing strontium-90, (the lack of what has gone by) plants ramble beneath their potting contaminated with this way not that. this is not a munitions depot but if you act calm you will be calm. someone shouts from a wreckage (burrow) of exploded engine parts. the smell of lye because they will never meet. formally: these bodies. everything is reversible in this narrow sense of holding. an effluvium of topple bees in the sun, something churns in a car in a box in a matter of time in terms. explosions, far off: the sound of a pipe, puffed wet. we take turns (seagulls against a chalkboard sky) mapping in dirt, the next place, with sewing needles, we will never arrive.
 

 Poem © Justin Petropoulos 2005-2006

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