poetry by j matthew waters

alien drug trade

we got in the car
and made a beeline downtown

it was almost december
and it was goddamn cold
the northwest wind
having gone crazy all afternoon

I had the capital
and you had the road map
a big fat beaver moon
illuminating our every move

everyone knew the aliens
had the best microdust
the trick you said
was all in the translation

I’d been underground before
but not in the inner city
and as we continued
to descend further
an inner emotional voice
kept telling me to fear not

november two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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