Three Poems

P. Scott Cunningham
November 14, 2023
Sky Boss by Tom Virgin

My Heart, a.k.a. the Names of Yachts
on the Way to My Daughter's School

after Caki Wilkinson

Turbulence   Nirvana   Spoiled   All In

Saint Susan   Serena’s Song    Paladin   

Wet Dreams   Awakened Soul   Prosperity

Power   Privilege   Ghost   Audacity

All that Jazz   Tangled Up    The Matrix

Happy   Reflection   Why Not?   Apocalypse

Sunshine    Sundancer    Blue Knight    Sandy Feet

So What Who Cares    Life is Good     Life is Sweet

Lil Nauti   Ocean Eagle    Ace of Spades

Tommy Girl     Bella Vita     La Verité

Tomahawk      Nikki Grace   Magic Blue

Bohemia     God’s Plan     Archipelago 2

Soul Seeker    Shame on Me    Triple Play

Forever     Me Gusta    Seas the Day

Sky Boss by Tom Virgin

My Heart, a.k.a. A Capsized Yacht
on Its Side in Biscayne Bay

Normandy Islands

I never would have known you existed

          if you hadn’t flipped over and begun

sinking right by the road two of your four

          compartments drowning in the shallow 

impenetrable muck of the bay which

          according to recent reports is toxic

to anything that needs light or air but still

          holds whatever’s buoyant on its jagged surface

case in point the next day a man drags you

          to the jetty beside the curb and using ropes

and his truck as a counterweight pulls you

          upright and once again you look like

something that might leave at any moment

          a mirage a posture a feint because

the next day you’re capsized again

          capsized being the position you prefer

you want half the world to be the sky

          and half to be the silt in the end

you’re incapable of pretending that you can survive

          for even one day outside of the place

                           you call home

My Heart, a.k.a. Brenda Frazier

“Brenda Frazier, most highly publicized of last season’s debutantes, and John S (Shipwreck) Kelly, shown here recently in a New York nightclub, boarded a Pan-American Clipper at Miami.”

    —     Getty photo caption, January 30, 1940

     We’re all in love with Brenda Frazier—

her minks, her broaches, her perfect gowns. 

Each night, the sun disclaims the sky to praise her.

     The glass bends toward her lips as if to save her

and is that a palm tree she’s wearing upside down?  

We are all in love with Brenda Frazier.

     Did you see her picture in the Sunday paper?

She’s the rocks where the ship runs itself aground.

Each night, the sun discards the sky to praise her.

     The drunk on her arm never seems to phase her.

A misplaced hair on Brenda? It’s never been found.

We’re all in love with Brenda Frazier—

     How her collar blooms as the pearls taper,

her stare, a thread that never comes unwound.

Each night, the sun deserts the sky to praise her.

     And now the living call out her name, as if to raise her.

Nothing stays buried in Miami ground.

We’re all in love with Brenda Frazier.

     Each night, the sun disowns the sky to praise her.

More from Issue One

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