All Poems

Just Jacksonville Fog

It’s not symbolic, literary, London fog.
It’s not Sir Arthur Conan Doyle fog.

We’re talking about regular,
local, Duval fog.

It’s not hounds on the moor fog.
C’mon, I mean, it’s not like it’s even like

it’s Murders in the Rue Morgue fog.
It’s just literal, old

county fog.
The river is warmer

than the air and so on.
It’s all perfectly scientific

and deducible
and it ain’t even midnight.

I’m not saying
we shouldn’t be

on the safe side.
I wonder which side

is the safe side?
Oooh, good point, babe.

The side without
the werewolf under

the streetlight.

–December 23, 2017

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