Steve Subrizi (2 poems)


In Captivity, the Urge to Migrate Grows Abstract

The only known King Island Emu still in existence has been spotted working as a scooper at the Harvard Square J.P. Licks Ice Cream Café. The flightless bird has been perched behind the candy counter since 10am today, gazing at customers in a defensive but purposefully amiable manner.

The manager of J.P. Licks added that since the emu’s employment, back-of-the-line organization, general cleanliness, and sales figures have all declined significantly, but the establishment “gets short-staffed in these slumpy winter months.”

The emu has been scheduled for two morning shifts and three evening shifts every week often including weekends. Several patrons have reported poor service and have sent back their Gingersnap Sundaes and Egg Nog Lattes, refusing to tip and threatening never to return.

“I sleep in a ball with my beak inside of my wing,” the emu said.


One-Boy Post Post Punk Band Behind the Music

It’s my birthday and I’m not having fun.

The sun keeps leaving school early.

Jean jacket season ended before I was done wearing my jean jacket.

In the middle of my burger I thought about the cows across from our bus stop.

I cannot finish this piece of cake.

The clown asked me to get him a ginger ale.

These balloons might not float away, even if you untied them.

I’m going to my room to listen to this old band called Joy Division.

I’m going to the basement to pretend I killed myself.

I’m going to watch rockumentaries on VH1 for the next several hours.

Guitars are for teenagers and now I have got one.

My father bought it for me, and he took me to a rock show.


by Steve Subrizi

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