by Chris Fox
At the Carson McCullers Theme Park
You were working the Clock Without Hands booth
and wouldn’t give me the time of day.
By total coincidence, we wound up next to each other
on the Member of the Wedding rollercoaster—
“Experience the Whee! of Me!!!”
shrieked the sign.
That’s when I knew:
like someone who marries the same person twice,
is wedded to its repetition,
to its own reflection
in a golden eye.
I am a lonely hunter incessantly
polishing my own gun,
so I beg you: take
the square root of wonderful and make
the last payment on this mortgaged heart!
City of Parties, City That Never
Slits Its Wrists,
a different block party raging
on each block:
the Halloween block, the Easter block,
the Birthday block,
and the Writers block
where you and I can live
inside a no-story house.
The thrift store you used to work at burns,
filling the air with second-hand smoke.
I’m an old shirt on the rack inside,
highly flammable, 100%
Up I go.
Drink and Dial
I’ve been sitting in this uncomfortable
position for so long
my legs have fallen asleep
like security guards at their posts—
what a perfect opportunity
for you to break in
and steal me.
Chris Fox is poet and stand-up comedian based out of Greensboro, North Carolina. His work has appeared in Rosebud, Treehouse, Paper Nautilus, and many other journals.