Mike Puican
As Though the Narrative Went Out for a Smoke
As though the narrative went out for a smoke and never returned, and now
the cruel waitress
the afternoon sun warming the shoulders of a runaway daughter
the teenagers in loud cars who will not live much longer
the baby on a ledge
the hand gun in the freezer under a pork roast
the upright piano approaching on the ice
the key that fell into the cuff of her rolled-up jeans
the ex-husband with amnesia
the circus performers who cram into a local bar
the strangely attentive fireworks salesman
the morning snowfall covering something that wasn’t there yesterday
the man who appears from nowhere and says he can help fix your flat
are abandoned and we have to complete the story ourselves.
About the writer:
Mike Puican’s debut book of poetry, Central Air, was released by Northwestern Press last August. He’s had poems in OPEN: JA&L, Poetry, and New England Review among others. He was a member of the Chicago Slam Team and has been a long-time board member for the Guild Literary Complex. He has taught poetry to incarcerated and formerly incarcerated individuals at the Federal Metropolitan Correctional Center and St. Leonard’s House in Chicago.
Image: Smoke on Yellow by Gary Manzo. No medium specified. No size specified. 2016. By free license.
