Colonel Mustard & the Dijon 5

In one version: there’s a Scottish band playing upstairs

and we swarm it like flies / windows

darken, the singer clad in yellow /

we laugh so delighted, this happenstance

as longed-for as air underwater / I can’t stop spilling

beer on your shoes / the singer strains

to tell us everything about living free / but

we can only dance, tripping over our feet like philistines.

In another: you’re dancing with fixed eyes,

bopping like you do / and then it’s later on,

I hear myself speaking underwater / I confess my delight

and you tell me you’ve had enough — no, not of me

or of these almost-trysts I happenstance — but of the freedom

we have or don’t have / to back away slowly. 

My coat gets caught in the fencepost / disappointment

is hardly ever tender, wide, and tried and true instead.

Kelly Konya is a poet native to Cleveland, Ohio. Her work is featured in several publications including Honest Ulsterman, Banshee, Abridged, Cold Coffee Stand, and the original issue of Lucky Jefferson. She is currently at work on her first collection and novel.