After draining to the bitters
and dredges from my coffee,
I replace the lid and push
the cup into the sand,
pull my feet back to sit on my haunches,
wrap my arms around my knees
as if I were five again, lost
among the ladies coats in Macy’s,
waiting to be found, not hiding,
but immobile, silent on dusty tiles.
The fog begins to burn, the waves
begin to become apparent.
I can’t keep still. I listen
for the sirens. There will be
an end to this.
A writer and poet from Queens, NY., Brendan McEntee’s work has appeared in The Iconoclast, Mad Swirl, Perigee, and A Prick of the Spindle, anthologized in Tippingthe Sacred Cow and Vintage & will appear in upcoming issues of Connecticut River Review and Subterranean Blue Poetry. He was a founding member and editor of Triggerfish Critical Review and on the reading board for NowCulture.