
“Stars at Home” and Other Poems
Joey Dalton
Stars at Home
The deep twinkle of carbonation flow
out over the vast midnight sea, frosting
The edge of tall, round glass; some eyes perceive
this as the end of everything.
I sit in an old Adirondack chair, painted red, beer in hand, not more than thirty feet from my childhood bedroom, where green glowing plastic wannabes mocked me in the dark. my head falls backward over the wooden lip and I sip in wonder; the stars I used to know
Grey-Scale Can’t Spread Everywhere Purple wildflowers sprinkle through the yard in an act of resistance alongside tufts of Kentucky bluegrass; red tulips flow from under fences, and that old pear tree, who’s rose-colored petals pour down onto the reservoir of weeds, stands a centerpiece in a quarter-lot oasis ...
I sit in an old Adirondack chair, painted red, beer in hand, not more than thirty feet from my childhood bedroom, where green glowing plastic wannabes mocked me in the dark. my head falls backward over the wooden lip and I sip in wonder; the stars I used to know
Grey-Scale Can’t Spread Everywhere Purple wildflowers sprinkle through the yard in an act of resistance alongside tufts of Kentucky bluegrass; red tulips flow from under fences, and that old pear tree, who’s rose-colored petals pour down onto the reservoir of weeds, stands a centerpiece in a quarter-lot oasis ...