Looking for spare change, I find

a spoon in my lover’s pants pocket


and it smells like liquor. I shake

his khakis and out falls more noise


than a quarter and dime should make.

What hits the floor can shake a place,


like upstairs neighbors fighting

last night. Pots and pans, and I imagine,


elbows and knees slammed above me.

Gravity does not hold a ceiling to a wall,


one lover to another. Did our builder

count out his nails? Loose hinges


cause doors to dangle, and the cat

sneaks out. Random pieces of grass


get stuck in a wandering shoe.

Maybe our neighbors threw the spoon


out the window and my lover found

it on his way home. I run my tongue


along its cool, arched back, taste

not quite Bourbon, not white


wine. I slide both hands in his pockets

to see what else I might find.



Beth Oast Williams


Beth Oast Williams is a student with the Muse Writers Center in Norfolk, Virginia. Her poetry has appeared in West Texas Literary Review, Wisconsin Review, Glass Mountain, The Bookends Review, and Willard and Maple, among others. She was nominated for the 2019 Pushcart Prize in poetry, received second place in the 2019 Poetry Matters Project and was a semi-finalist for Poet’s Billow’s 2018 Atlantis Award. Her workshop experience includes Bread Loaf and VQR Writers Conferences.

Listed at Duotrope
Listed with Poets & Writers
CLMP Member
List with Art Deadline
Follow us on MagCloud