Eyewear is very pleased to feature a new poem by North American poet Adam Sol this hot (yes, sunny) Monday in London.
for Alex Porco
Sweethearts in school uniforms spoon froyo
into each others’ mouths on a bench across
from the Korean consulate.
Death to the infidels.
Down the street some boys shed their aprons
to practice skateboard flops off an abandoned Buick.
We shall bathe the streets in blood.
Someone’s mother drives by,
sipping bourbon from a spill-proof mug. The nose-ringed
cashier says, “Moulin Rouge has layers
that you miss unless you’re on X.”
Revenge revenge revenge revenge.
A kid in an all-terrain stroller prefers his thumb
to the pacifier strapped to his collar.
Die you fascist pig.
Gravel gathers in the curb,
with stubs, shards, and other garbage.
The bones of the filthy will burn forever.
There’s nature around here somewhere.
The bus slows for an expectant mother,
but she’s just catching her breath.
The godless will be torn to pieces by dogs,
and crows will gorge on their eyes.
A businesswoman in cowboy boots
fields a call between drags. It’s an offer she may refuse.