Two Poems

by Kent Kosack

The Jagged Line

He keyed a Ferrari once

just because it was beautiful.

Not just, ok. Also. Because

he sought beauty and never

found it. Not never. It was

just always in someone else’s

arms, under contract, sold out.

At the meditation retreat, he saw

a beautiful man, a compound of

rugged symmetrical softness,

contemplate a leaf on the bottom-

most branch of a tree. He wanted

to smash the beautiful man’s nose

with his average fist. But he’s a seeker,

a coward, and there were a lot of people

around, some just as beautiful.

The feel of that key scoring the yellow paint,

a jagged line of ugliness for all to see.

Mold

Mold in the basement and I’m not

sure what to do. It’s not my house.

It might not even be my life anymore.

My girlfriend’s name is on the deed

and she might not be my girlfriend much longer.

Black mold? Are there other sorts of mold?

I had a neighbor once who used to scream

at his elderly mother. “You’re a devil,” he’d yell,

A devil woman!” He bought a trailer when she died

but it was full of mold. Basically unlivable.

I can’t remember if or how he tried to fix it.

But I remember him yelling and I feel bad

because I’ve become a man who yells now too.

I bought a spray at Home Depot but I haven’t used it.

A man who yells and lets mold grow.

BIO: Kent Kosack is a writer based in Pittsburgh. His work has been published in Exacting Clam, Subtle Body Press, minor literature[s], 3:AM Magazine, and elsewhere. Read more at kentkosack.net