Poetry: Coney Island

Coney Island

I smoke in the backseat and he does not mind.

She is still beautiful.

Breathe in and what kills me is she is ecstatic.

She uses language to open doors.

The sidewalks all face the wrong direction

so we use our feet to find the sand.

I first fall asleep from where they guard,

but she wakes me up and is perfect against the waves.

Perfect against the roller coaster backdrop

and I don't know how much a cyclone costs.

I don't know how to climb ladders

so she takes me to the dock after we link arms.

I pull her out to the edge

and hope that she does not jump unless I do.

On the way home we take turns falling asleep

in our metal car.

We check to see if something is left behind

and I can see she sleeps with her eyes open.

Remember on the dock she asked what perfect meant

after telling all the sky's different colors.


- Laura Radcliffe