by Benjamin Niespodziany
Constellations
after Collin Callahan's "Stardust Bowl"
John chews meth
adone alone
in the passenger
seat of my car.
We're driving
farther into Indiana.
Deeper into disease.
After John vomits Sonic
he tells us his head
was on a string outside
the car window, watching us eat.
Indiana haiku
Driving in the rain
to meet my parents at a
Hard Rock casino.
Indiana Afternoons
Indiana afternoons consume me.
In the barn is where the horse mask rests.
He needs it to not lose his mind.
My friend Dave turns 35 later this week.
I think he thinks I won't remember.
I will remember. I thought it was yesterday.
The Region
Indiana acts
as an essential
to the world
it unattracts.
A rat
made out
of corn.
A tomato
in the shape
of a tank.
Locals circle
each other
in a new sport
whose rules
will be revealed
next season.
After Almost Choking to Death on a Life Saver in a Long John Silver's
for Joe Wenderoth
I'm being asked
to leave this
particular
Long John Silver's.
I will find
another. There are
57 in Indiana. I'll be
fine. There are
65 in Ohio, if
necessary, but don't
make me
go to Ohio. No. Please. I'm fine
in Iowa. There are 11
in Iowa. I'm okay
in Illinois. There are 23
in Illinois. But no,
no Ohio. Not today.
Benjamin Niespodziany is a Chicago-based writer whose work has appeared in Bennington Review, Fence, Conduit, Fairy Tale Review, and elsewhere. He has one book of micros out with X-R-A-Y and one book of poems out with Okay Donkey. Along with hosting the Neon Night Mic reading series, he also recently launched Piżama Press. You can find more at neonpajamas.com.