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AR #60 Cover
number 60

P O E T R Y
by Joshua Robbins

Wash n' Shop

I'd like to say the scruffy anthem that a boy's rolled-up
     cuffs & scuffed sneakers sing to a waning Saturday moon

& his midnight T.P.'ing of the neighborhood are, together,
     a kind of code-breaking, another tally slash in the column

Unsuccessful Ciphers of the Outer World,
     but as the Wash n' Shop's double-stacked front loaders

tumble & smack in long rows, neither I, nor his mother
     getting high in the ladies', could care less about

the signified, or how vent steam, sweet-smelling
     & inconsequential, drifts upwards & becomes the sky.

So, tonight, let there be breakage. Let the strip mall bar
     next door empty out & let the half-tanked stumble home.

Let not one phrase of the turnpike's hum correspond.

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