Poems of Alina Stefanescu

Polytropos, Tuscaloosa The neighborhood alphas leave engines running as hands soap car windows with specialized sponges. I try watching but the plot is deadbeat daddy, common weekend refrain. Patches of armpit sweat vary by fabric but football logos every pocket. Silence is a scrimmage I invent back plots yet action runs circle to circle. Huddles over tires. We are oval at best, baby blue eggs lining Easter baskets. Kids shuck corn from cobs and leave the silk on the lawn for nests. A mom wonders what happened to muses. A…

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