two poems

“beer”

we meet in bars

under the light of

blue grass

crass with our

speech

bass fishing in toilets

singing sink or

swim, film of our

demise, byes of

longing, fits of prolonging,

slogging through the

noise, feeling poise in

buoyant seats. feets

skittering over the rests

of foot stools, tools to

get us through the day.

say, can i bother you

for a drink? think of

a reason to commit treason

against solemn promises,

all of us, seeing the bottom

of the glass. pass the

kaleidoscope, hope for

answers, beg for chances,

night romances, long stares,

bus fares, a goodnight kiss,

miss the chance, collect a

dance. fancy another

beer?

“the cleaning”

meant for publication in 2023’s “abject horrors”, lost then recollected.

on the way back from the cleaning

a woman in the car

behind me

smiled

and further in the rearview

her young child

psychobabbling away

saying nothing at all

and her mother

elated,

elevated by her smile

sharing an infant’s moment

of first speech,

the precipice for some kind

of orator.

the snow lining up

the edge of the street

turning black

as winter’s breath came clear.

how many moments

of my mother am

i missing?

living vicariously

watching her raise my niece

caught her smile in the rearview

the adoration of mothers

driving

moving through time

and distance

filling in the blanks

reimagining

a more idyllic childhood

the smile ever present

the babbling,

ringing within

the wheeled machine.

connor marquis-young is a writer and poet from hamilton, and co-founder of junq magazine. “god is alive. magic is afoot.”