Poetry - Issue 16 | October 2012

Two Poems by Colin Dodds

Outside Colorado Springs

the Pancake Houses and weekly-rate motels
glowed like heaven built by unqualified creatures
who’d underbid the job

Old America, before the frontier congealed
and the pretend-wealthy won the war for our imaginations,
still wakes itchy in those motels, scrounges
for pocket-change under its coffee saucers

The motels invoke the Bedouins, Apache,
aliens, pirates, gods and cavemen,
cry out to the holiest and farthest reaches of the mind

Beside the liquor stores and car washes,
their neon buzzes and pulses something
too disreputable to be a vision,
and too strong to be a hallucination

On the Interstate, new America flaunted
and welcomed us back to its decade-old antiquity,
and second-hand devotions Customers Only,
reads the constitution of that America

By the airport, past fields vast and unwanted,
lost on roads more sky than macadam,
we surrendered at the rental car return.

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About the author

Colin Dodds grew up in Massachusetts and now lives in Brooklyn, New York, with his wife.  Dodds’ poetry and fiction can be found here as well as in a number of periodicals, including Explosion-Proof, Folio, Lungfull and The Main Street Rag. Dodds was touted by the late Norman Mailer as showing something that very few writers have; a species of inner talent that owes very little to other people.

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