Joey Gould

have fate

Put away the basin wrench or whatever
talisman you’re holding. That sink will get fixed,

you say, closing the undercupboard
with the regret of a layperson.

Sometimes you’re the layperson,
sometimes you’re the expensive mechanic

with a secret nest of wrens in his chest.
Treat everyone as if they’re a small bird

until you can prove otherwise. Don’t stop
watering the cyclamen. Naïve, sure,

an apartment is the opposite
of a nursery but the light’s near southern

& it grapefruit-colors a rug. See
a specialist about the spirits

coming through that door.
You are hallowed, not haunted,

not downstairs in the disused wing.
You’re nouveau in a baby of a country,

it’s a child, showing the place
to its parents, the gods, who are proud

their dearie made a tree.
The walls outside your room say have fate

& you chat to a bartender who gives you
free shots. It ends there for once, innocent,

the credits rolling early in Gramercy
then the 1, the 2, the 3.

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Joey Gould is a queer teacher, cabaret performer, & author of two books of poetry, with recent work in Miniskirt Magazine, beestung, and Meow Meow Pow Pow. They write reviews & serve as Poetry Editor for Drunk Monkeys.

IG: @joey.toshines 
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