Dreck

Sam Robinson

Poem

This nipple smacks of audio- these machines rule me
Can we make a comeback from four behind?
Look at the moon- lo and behold an orange slice
splits the sky over the expressway- express
yourself to me in all your glorious illness I will take
that on when I feel like it, and I always feel it
between my index finger, ring and thumb- O John
how come? Remember my index finger, ring
off and in my pocket, so I disguise myself intentions
laid out in a circle of ash- just chilling hard
A kind stranger asked me if I was okay laying under
a World War II tank left at my elementary school
playground when my heart was first broken, so kind
was he and curious too, seeing thin legs stretch
out like that under a decommissioned war machine
I was doing fine then and continue to do so
through any tears that come my way, come what may




Sam Robinson is a writer from Massachusetts whose work has appeared previously in Grotto Journal, Soft Union, Hobart Pulp, Spectra Poets and elsewhere, with more forthcoming from DFL Lit and Tragickal. They are the author of two chapbooks, New Age Self Help (Bottlecap Press, 2024) and Boston Spleen (All Flux Press, 2025).