Three Poems by Christopher Blackman
Brighter Star
The drummer who beats dread in our lives
has set his sticks on the end table.
Souped-up Camrys roar freely, bristling
at speed limits and hastening
themselves along the beltway. Bats weave
in the sky—a pair of anarchists
in darkness. This is as quiet
as the night gets in these parts—
these immaculate machines at work.
A neighbor wheels his garbage can
to the street and returns to the enclosure
of his garage. I look up to the stars,
imagine holding one in my hand,
like a single bulb in a strand. Magnificent.
And then I almost start to feel it burn.
Best Man Toast
I entertain a gentleman
at the bar with a factoid,
telling him that quinine
prevents malaria and he laughs
in my face. The dancers laugh
with him. The dancers tell me
my haircut is “Hollywood”
so I tip them. I try a new gin
with a different imperial mascot
each time. The betrothed
talks to the dancers while I drink
an elephant gin. The walls writhe.
I drink smuggled gin from
a flask and rehearse my best man
toast to a dancer. She claps
and I tip her. I tip the bathroom
attendant and drink a gin
with a wasp on the label.
I entertain a different gentleman
at the bar with a factoid
about insects: do you know
how hymenoptera—that’s social
insects—tell each other it’s time
to move the colony? They dance.
Aubade from Airport Cab
Two people on a stoop: the sun
begins to rise. She rests
her arm upon his neck and props
her head against his chest,
a trellis of tattoos, exposed and bare.
Then boats bouncing
in the harbor bay—
it’s almost insulting how close
to the shore the boats all stay
when they could sail anywhere.
Christopher Blackman is a poet from Columbus, Ohio. His poems have appeared in DIAGRAM, The Kenyon Review, Cleaver Magazine, Booth, and Mississippi Review, among other publications. He currently lives in New York City.
