by Adam K. Bechtold
After Barbenheimer there was a street performer singing ‘Easy Like Sunday Morning’ outside Yoshi’s, across from the Ben and Jerry’s / After Barbenheimer I jumped at a mouse that ran across the sidewalk from the bush where I sometimes stop to pee / After Barbenheimer there was a figure walking along the tracks up ahead with a blanket across their shoulders / After Barbenheimer it was very late and I was on the very edge of the city / After Barbenheimer I passed a discarded shoe that looked exactly like the pair I had thrown out before leaving Virginia / After Barbenheimer I didn’t stop to get a drink, but enjoyed the clarity and surprising warmth of the night / After Barbenheimer I walked into the Port of Oakland past the scrap metal pile that had blackened the sky two days before / After Barbenheimer I climbed the seven flights of stairs to get back to my stateroom and sat down to write you a letter.
Adam K. Bechtold is a Cuban-American poet residing in Central Virginia; a seafarer on merchant ships; and the Managing Editor at samfiftyfour_literary. His work has recently been featured in Rill & Grove and On The High Literary Magazine.