Sunday, 2 July 2017

A poem by Adrian Slonaker

The Monterey


This morning we're slouching
in the same lemon-colored boxy booth seats
that registered our butt imprints back in 1996.
Fingering the raisins scattered over a cinnamon roll,
the way moles are scattered over your forearm,
I scan the diner where
I conspired to win the world
like Alexander the Great or Homer Simpson.
Now my granite eyes have been stalked by by crow's-feet;
my innocence has been nixed;
my world remains unwon,
but still I take your hand under that table.










Adrian Slonaker lives and works as a copy editor in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, USA, with interests that include vegetarian cooking, Slavonic languages, Victorian horror fiction, wrestling, and 1960s pop music. Adrian's work has appeared in Better Than Starbucks, CC&D, Dodging the Rain, and Three Line Poetry, with publication in Ginosko Literary Journal and Eunoia Review forthcoming.

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