Boston Calls Me to Love by Michael Pontacoloni


The eyes open to the cry
of my neighbor,
who is loudly having sex.

Her emphatic

sprays my own sheets damp,
glares against
my bedroom mirror,

drags it fingertips
down my shins.

Then I am standing,
wavering as her breath.

I spread my curtains

to let enter the brush
of each passing car

the slow chrome
of handlebars
and rippling spokes,

the chime of last night’s
bottles and aluminum cans

and the window-box
of cigarettes and marigolds
and the tree in its planter,

bursting the sidewalk
on a which a whisking push broom
seems to whisper

yes,     yes,     yes.



Michael Pontacoloni’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Barrow Street, Shampoo, Flyway, and elsewhere. He is a student in the MFA program at the University of North Carolina, Greensboro.