Arsenic Lobster poetry journal
Issue Nineteen
Spring 2009
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Your Leaving Vienna with the Hapsburgs
Jason Spear

Just as the sun fell down, you slipped out behind the slinky cat. I think his name was Jinx, but I'm positive you were wearing a summer dress, so it fell because the moon rose and the hellcat wanted it that way anyway.

The waiters were playing tennis, just, intensely. After-hours, the game was still Love-Love, so the strip croquet began. But you might have been thinking of something else. I lost your trail for a minute riddled to stitches by my watch, wondering without thinking why all swings were in reverse, if the lawn would ever be the same again after such follies, if the cat was definitively haunted.

But I came to my senses- I followed a trail of cyclamen that fainted as you passed. The spring was astonished by your genius and the fruit was served with drippings of border-lace.

I found you at the Sudbanhoff. I headed east while you headed west, to trick them I'm sure was your plan, to meet in the middle in just a nick of time.

I remember- your croquet dress, the myth of its virginity and the way they shipped it back to me in your old straight-jacket. I remember it all- the bad luck cat's fault, the escalators going haywire, the trains going separate ways to catch us in the middle of it all.

About Jason Spear

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