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POEM: Samantha Soda


Human history pauses.

Reaction motion full stop, sputtering figures,
Samantha and you, two and two,
voices fading in an undefined space, a concrete
hallway that absorbs word and noise.
Distraction, collision, fingertip detachment, a final
release of sweaty ice filled hard paper cup, jumbo size
plummet hammer, Samantha’s
face straight on, eye on eye, pop dropping drink,
pop dropping drink in this concrete bunker.


Samantha’s frame, braced rigid ‘gainst brick,
pop drink dropping straight down,
giant sized sugar spin. Down.


Hollow of neck, Samantha blonde, mis-represented Dutch flush
haircut, Samantha unclogged, liquid swirling, rotating spiral tail
in air, 300 galaxy days to impact, clouds streaming,

Samantha mouth mouth
carbonation, precipitation, almost not blonde


Samantha, awkward lurch impact, gallon soda cascade, cup
fall faster than soda. One quick crack whack,
liquid squandered contain smack, fumble wrecking solidity,
drop drop drop
You’re eyes are trembling, lips flickering, this soda doesn’t belong in the cup.
Grapple wrung out,
contrasting to action, structure and revision.
Undecipherable sentence, tasteless estate of fall.

Samantha’s soda, giant size tragedy in air,
never before or since culminating random
rotation and spill. Discarded fluid somewhere
between rebuffed proposition and dull concrete bunker bluffs of vision and itch.

Detach and dream of desire! Impact of cup
cracking lid, flying off terminal velocity.

Spill, spill, spill, spill, spill. FLASH FLOOD!!
At exactly the same nation, city, state, hour, minute, second, two and two pause.

“I’m sorry.” In tandem.


Fluidly beautiful clumsy hug — over!
Cruel stain blurting across carpet, wet sorry soda blob,
carpet thread leak, expanding circular seeping mass, dead density, soda continent.

Polluted, disappointing dissolve. Resolved she turns.

Samantha’s undecipherable blanketed sentence.


You’ll never drink that soda,
you’re never going to taste that soda,
you’re never meeting that tongue,
and if you could say something,
if you could say something, the stain might
never come out of that rug.

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