Two Poems by Paul Hostovsky
Aug 20th, 2023 | By Defenestration
Some pronounce it poim.
Like it has an oy inside it.
The way an oyster
has an oy inside it. The way
all poems ought to have
a little oy vey
and a little oyez! oyez!
inside them.
Some pronounce it poim.
Like it has an oy inside it.
The way an oyster
has an oy inside it. The way
all poems ought to have
a little oy vey
and a little oyez! oyez!
inside them.
While waiting
for the world
to end,
I anxiously
tidied the house.
My dog wakes herself with a fart,
eyes filled with accusation
that I had played a nasty trick,
her glare cold, convinced.
I think last night I caught a glimpse into your soul
in the same, unlucky way strangers catch a glimpse
of you through the gaps in the doors of public
restrooms in America.
How did I win this privilege
you all bent on my chest?
As windows watch us breathless,
your text might know the rest.