Condensation
We used to be
the same, used to
dance in
living rooms in Grandview
houses, drunk
on homemade Moscow
Mules in
copper mugs, and then
you said you
would no longer
drink, but
you’d watch with
a glass of
empty icewater,
drip out the
fronts of bars
without a
noise.
James Croal Jackson (he/him) has a chapbook, The Frayed Edge of Memory (Writing Knights Press, 2017), and poems in Columbia Journal, Rattle, and Reservoir. He edits The Mantle (themantlepoetry.com). Currently, he works in the film industry in Pittsburgh, PA. (jimjakk.com)
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