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Poem of the Week by Justin Karcher

By Justin Karcher

Every night I drift down the Buffalo River on a beanbag float,

Gorging myself on wonderful assorted meats and gluten-free four-leaf clovers.

In the shadow of grain elevators at the edge of the river,

Semi-naked men and women are dancing to loud music,

Wriggling around like blood-soaked worms in a foamy sea of insecticide.

This is the place where the journey ends, where I break bread

With comatose ghouls donning hipster hoodies and spiked collars.

Their eyes are like banged-up pinball machines, darting back and forth

And making weird noises. They’re so excited to experience life.

Sometimes I polish their mustachioed halos and take the world by storm.

I think I’m the luckiest guy alive.

JUSTIN KARCHER is a Buffalo-based poet and playwright who was the recent winner of the 2015 Just Buffalo Literary Center members’ writing competition. His one-act play “Most of America’s Water Comes Through Rust Belt Eyes” is currently playing through May 23 at the American Repertory Theater of Western New York as part of its “Rust Belt Grotesque” showcase of one-act plays by Buffalo-area playwrights.