Derelict Time

by Scott T. Hutchison

Stephen Poore

You slip, right into it, on  a low moment’s non-notice.   Mysteries of bottle, but  no glass. You survive on scant:  stolen watermelon sugar,   a trespassed swimming hole  with rocky falls to lie in.     Underwater. Eyes open. Counting   how long the breath holds.  The world bubbles and froths  cleanly above you. Angelic  separation. The flow changes   with Not-so-Fun-House   mirror distortion. Worthless    would be too much of a compliment;  less is the better, baggier, dirtier fit.   Personal injury is hole-bean counted  into a starchy simmer and equation. Sleep    will come after frying bacon   with the dark grubby voices speaking  from the chain-linked darkness.   Embarrassment — wept over    beneath the amused, splattering,   rotten tomato-force of audience   settled in the Town Square — such   humiliation subsequently mudslides down   like rainy grave-fill. Bedraggling.     But — there are soft-beaten mattresses   and couches, kind and free   along the roadsides.

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Scott T. Hutchison is the author of two books of poetry, Reining In (BlackBird Press) and Moonshine Narratives (Main Street Rag Publishing). Poems have appeared in Poet Lore, The Georgia Review, and The Southern Review. New work is forthcoming in Atlanta Review, Kestrel, The Muleskinner Journal, Sport Literate, The Thieving Magpie, and Tampa Review.