By Ethan Custer
is a ghost story. Somebody leaves
their A/C off in 90 degree weather
in desperation. A policeman permits
a child to rev a motorcyclist’s engine
at a traffic light. A gray Honda Accord
begins rolling through an intersection
when the light perpendicular turns red.
A man and a woman dead to the world
share a kiss after a street-side dinner,
their elbows identically crosshatched
from resting on the metal table. He’s
breathing through his nose so quietly
he forgets about it. People are walking
around plastic tables set up in a motel
parking lot and their lips all spell suicide.
A dirty man picks at his navel, a dirtied man
crosses his legs when he stands. An angel
counts his sins to fall asleep and wakes up
with them tattooed on his eyes. When you
surrender your vanity plates you’ll never get
the name back. No string of words in your
obituary could ever make me love you.
Contributor Bio
Ethan Custer is a junior at Ramapo College on the 4+1 MFA track in Creative Audio Technology, who is also pursuing a minor in Creative Writing. Everything he does is for his cat, Socks.